haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Impossibly slow-going effort in redacting via poking into others' feeble hiding

spots. If that's a sentence, I may qualify for broadcast vocal quality. This mensch

of a didact mentors me. Dividing line between us copes. We scope our flowers on

the wall to be thin-layered in our wake. Away with you, barked the officer. I'm twice your

share request. The beeline made, once fathomed, has crippled its play-through

dialect for you, for me, for hearsay. Ivor Winters wintered here. A withering respect for

notebooks, young and bald, goes with us through the grad school grind. A diag

laced with smoke, apart from rings, finesses how we work. We work through this and

that canary when we fortify. Conjugate that wilderness, said popelets in the dark room.

Vote for me, said Mary. Find your way to peat moss toying with the rusted compass. When

new neighbors hatch, remind them of referrals. Then the custom of the costume

of the welding pros begins to mean iambic pent-up grace. One move in my

direction, and I'll fault you to the next authority. I see your name along my left side,

noting I am always on the busy, at the ready, on the house. She sat, meaning she prayed,

or there were babies to be watched. She watched, thereby recorded her young silence,

as if any number of interpreters were there to verify. You like this mind, then put in a

pre-order, and there will be shares and shares alike.

 

Costume jouissance, a major seventh to your spouse for tapping into violet detente 

 

Sheila E. Murphy