Sunday, March 25, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Whipped cream, title of the fabric pink in moderation. Thin, young
arms match forecast of a dry day, looking out across the lawn.
In speech, resuscitation. Wind elapsed, bead of an already smooth
skin. Effort equal to an effortless preemptive laugh. Sudden whim
recovers silence to replaces with sweeter means. By any mode
one senses, venial recursions. Sotto swiftness of a boyfriend or
a thought, line drawing made of steam. Wince and chortle and revive
the neighborly long walk. Her motion kismet, an affrontery,
the limits of pronunciation. White against her skin, or doubling
of the sky. A musical notation blears the eye. Sight reading sends
up the assignment. While the teacher reads results. The mood goes
on, social promotion hastens an unseemly zero depth. And midnight,
just beyond the flip of any coin.
Choice, as if, or leafage, or a customary mulch, predictive value
of what purportedly will grow
Sheila E. Murphy

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