Sunday, November 27, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

She construes surface as depth. Verses of appearance fall
into versus for the missus. Who confides in. Versus who
returns the service retribution. Piece of walleye.
Percolation primps. A wait staff. Don clamps down on.
Sends our friend. He did. Now what. The stuck part of
the damp line of the dervish when it swayed then placard
splintered too. Young braided boy at brawl. A scorpio deranges.
What miles to count. Play what is not. Young parallelogram.
A two-two tabula rouge. And now her ghostly prax. The yarn goes
dormant. Turnkey. Riced. The table-plated joust. And fractional.
And endearing. And repugnant. And encyclopedic. And infringed
upon. You know bestial. Thrice the bladelet. Scorn. Entrenched.
A shut-up's worth of condoning. Welter. Welt. New weight. The
only freedom. Patched. Is parsed too. Vintner and she does not
even drink.

Salt shaker, placing the distractions far away, torpor, rumor
milling around, a morgue in situ

Sheila E. Murphy

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