Thursday, April 17, 2014

Sheila Murphy

from April Poems

A third of all listeners have stirred the contents of this envelope into their conceptual cups of coffee. Now relax. I'm voicing in my tiptoe voice across the tidy bricks cohabited by thought. Any moment now, a person will appear to offer more than you have asked. A flask of Ginseng flavored faith will loom across the vale, once you have settled in, you will own title to the thing that you invented.

Insistency replenishes drawers frosted by disuse. There used to be a simple way things would reset themselves. The elfin patter of repeat dreams falsifies continued history tinted by breath. Now story takes the place of columns, and the automatic graphs succeed where wisdom used to do, we thought.

The use of "like" has bristled back-of-neck locations stalking rumored truth. Verbatim softeners of speech code recede into a backdrop hammered up by techs paid under-time, while adjuncts freeze in corridors. Impediments to reach conform like loans in packages. Oh lonesome mee kay el, the dazzling wheat crop has nutrition on the rocks facing shared depth.

When epistemology has lapsed completely, will you be troubadour for my enlistment? Choreography like father berth will tremble when the decency has gapped. The FERPA thing on telephone conforms to forecast on recorded line that asks to see the drapes held. Dappled backs shirt-free across the acreage means crops likely will be sown. Once we have trickled out of sight lines, underbellies will bewilder eyes held fresh inside. Devoted not to watching what has happened once and now.

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