Monday, November 30, 2009

from THE TWELVE || Sheila E. Murphy


[ 1 ] Surname, an exploratory vintage, inflected warning of the op cit treasures and a sudden edit soon frayed.
[ 2 ] She’s on her own this morning, almost afternoon, she’s wading through the pennies in the foreground, loosely translated to mean letting go the fingerings for better song.
[ 3 ] I’ll have the recency, please, with bechamel sauce, if you don’t mind, and while you’re there, some flaxseed for my future.
[ 4 ] Laps around the pool table, supervised by your young supervisory, many moons from tonsure.
[ 5 ] Once the aftermath is finely known, the workaholic pokes her head in to ensure that everything is all right again.
[ 6 ] Floor-length renown, a busy integer with flecks of maturation showing, conversational refuting of old news, to mirror yesterday’s dissention.
[ 7 ] The only minus sign I know, he worms his way through others’ happiness and emerges looking very much like them.
[ 8 ] When one plays brass, one learns embouchure can tank if not made constant.
[ 9 ] “I don’t know what to say,” said she, revealing thereby the completeness of lividity.
[ 10 ] Reciprocal détente means you are in the next room, we are different by mere means of these rice paper walls.
[ 11 ] Activate your history by virtue of a wrist flick and a shot of cortisone.
[ 12 ] Mantra, back stretch, visit upon visit to the slinky store, where urgent memory replaces hapless fault.

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