Monday, January 27, 2020

Sheila Murphy - Three pieces

Petrarch in a Petrie Dish
Elan is less a suffix than a plant.
Come hither and reduce.
The mantra you may reverence
is likely the new moisture.
Just advance and time the tale
you are about to wash.
At length, I note the blossoms
au courant, redeeming stale
apostles of our making
that reveal the perp in calibrated
form. A window near the other
window shifts the length
of sidecar blooms and cradles
how we worth our way into
eternity, one lotion at a time.

The Floor
Let me disappoint you at my leisure
only to await dismissive looks
too plural as I see my shoes
blend with the land
as if the sky were merely
painted on behind the treetops
where I’m not supposed to look.

Sample Size
An ample quirk of fate reverted to the instant ivory of long tones loved by fingers used to sand. Reconnaissance emboldens lucid water. And the planks just pure as peat. Give us this fray our domiciles as underage revocable young trucks. I blemish what I’ve caught and steel myself to winter as it grays out layman’s terms. The limit of my sensory indifference ranks softly in the park of venerable snowmen. Just a place to park behind the sleet and grow.

Storm troop, botany, the rewound decibels at work

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