Sunday, June 22, 2014

2 poems || Sheila E. Murphy


Choreography coats experience a white blond
caress as feed light points to metronomic blood beat.

The child scores points beyond pacific ancestry,
aligned with costume and dimensional retreat.

One paints history the color forenoon
until sunlight lathers acreage in the country.

Number the daylight in taut parcels, to endow
them with commensurate depreciation.

A father’s snoring offers safety not withheld
until flowers planted here beside the stone.

Beyond the Nonce

Faith requires a router, would you agree?
Nothing, after all, is certain except signaling.

I like to think rain fractures its own reputation.
Machiavellian urges tinge idea flight.

An unfurnished customer, legs spindly, modestly
unpolished, waits to see what we offer to do.

This mirror has been used before, a palpable image
hovers in the reliable mid-section like a cloth.

Do you take this management theory to be your
umbrage, your lifeline, your exclusive viaduct?

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