Monday, July 4, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy


Whose violets belong on the white rug? Moments ago, I fluffed footprints
out into the atmosphere. And now what shows is soil. What keeps is violation.
What holds is sensory. A voice, still vibrant, weights its chance of being
not just chosen, but magnified. "As you are all aware . . ." began the prof-.
Thus, the lecture moved toward ventilation. Crops made good. Folks made whole.
Corporations left to their inflationary wheeze. If responsible for where one's
walked, how shift routine to dance? So many daylights might be labeled
"usual." Reliable indifference does not brush what may need tending: water,
weeding, reed tones played and heard and held. Regardless of the struggle,
follow-up needs to be plenary in minds that like their closure. Nine essential
vitamins will go unnamed against the soldiering. To correspond with color
isolates, perhaps unplanned.

Semi-tones, yes, blood calories, a minute of your time

Sheila E. Murphy

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