Sheila
E. Murphy
| So
This I quietly and unremarkably love you, I practice being where I am if I invent you I already learn a way to recollect the huge moments of happiness, the minor tree branch, the live wings changing how our lawn poses status of collective noun imposed thus from without so various coordinating conjunctions are not equal to the task the task is being knowing valuing while this is here, so this embedded presence defines present tense as real and as legitimate with and without each one of us. Noun that I've been watching (20) Feather. Episodic silver winter lushes past the straight-edged path. Passion, the opposite of habit? Whose stark sun? A runaway spooled around wood carved into function. Notice is a neutral act. You wind me. In a feasible enormous sunshine there are bodies generously enclosing would-be frost. Let us pray. Merely the leavings now. Chance happiness. One sweeps for reasons undisclosed. And light as in fresh weather. Low weight. Birthing old occurrence. Who we are. A Fleck of Speech Rusticity’s cement on soft location. Do you read me? Arts and letters come to life amid sightseeing journeys to the upper echelons of spirit with a color in the eyes that lights the land. Some time tomorrow, every city will be made invisible. The access codes will rhyme with here. When nervous, one’s skin mentions things. Fear informs unhappiness. To have invested in despair entails a less-than-generous star tip in the sky. Living in full view of the sparklets means a copter will arrange to pin a prior dampness. To think is to have failed to act. To act requires a fleck of speech. The only silence disconcerts a universal play. Points made in isolation sound like dreams. The pavement is a sheet of likely steps to walk. The signature amends this cold and snow, elicits grace from weather. If location is in hand, we are another of its weathervanes. Tin recipient of tiny hammer tones delivered in Morse Code Genmai Tea and Food for Three Minnows take attention from the glitter fish that industry attracts. Camouflage fails to embellish or bequeath signs on a being. One may liken water to the color mud. One may prefer eye blue with bottom stones to crystallize. True anything might possess too many syllables. Your sense of hearing goes abstract. Against my better judgment, liability’s incurred. The music coming out of cable in the living room mismatches keys on the computer. Genmai tea and food for three, salmon, rice, and beans, and squash. Rice pudding pie, no sugar added, silver rain white tea. Snow on stones gray as though chip seal. Recurring theme request. One knows nothing has been right. Embargo, sallow cheeks in waves pass through diminuendo. Latch connects to hinge, midnight removes a key card from possession. Posses venture north, or trespass. Accolades begin to smart for the beheld who lingers. Indebtedness accounts for fact’s dead weight. Threads of together, mind in motion, a patched craft >>>Tina Bass
Back to Contents |
|||
| |
|