Friday, November 27, 2009

from THE TWELVE || Sheila E. Murphy


[ 1 ] He called her frail, the lady doth pre-test, incipient clover shadows hovered in or near the monocle.
[ 2 ] When someone says PAC-10, you are supposed to know who’s there, as in “knock knock,” and respond with a definite opinion.
[ 3 ] I could not help regarding her pale hands, following the doctor’s mention that we hold ours as though forming some kind of pact; to subtract my mother’s legacy would seem rude in the vernacular, but I did, and there it is.
[ 4 ] The piano is an objet d’art, so play your heart (out) to the world, especially at 4:00 while someone’s serving something tangible with something rinse-y.
[ 5 ] Posture and modulated tone poem, a lady does thus and so, and then what, service?
[ 6 ] All my syllables are offered chill, with you, my constant comet.
[ 7 ] Spores make light a nutrient until penetration of dark rescue.
[ 8 ] A spatula repairs coagulation to release inherent freedom, or simply fortify a habit.
[ 9 ] Space exhaled becomes a patch of innovation for another thought-spawn immigrant.
[ 10 ] Address, beginning something, words to act as seeds, inceptional as white grapes.
[ 11 ] Receding into repeat naivete, the lawn boy chops a branch and calls it an intention.
[ 12 ] Stippling creates a quilt that should be seen from distances quite plural and detached.

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