Sheila Murphy

In this different chair I'm going to sit a while and not gain in
sophistication. What would flower paintings be if not for habitats in which
they dwell. They dwell as lucky pigment dwells in multilingual bungalows.
And were you listening heartily, you would have heard first hand the nervous
breakdown grow into a way of life. These phrases are not often used now that
the culture's found another way of prodding lies out of a suffragette. The
coy small windows in boudoirs lease a remote esteem in satisfying bundles to
deserving priests. With twisted arms slow to retort some things in need of
leashes. When will the shoulder strap begin to slip down one side or the
next. The luminarias go slowly toward our eyesight camped out on the doorstep
wanting reciprocity. For once the tulips try to disappear. For once they do
all morning. Laughing stocks just bray and hose down their effete new hat
with brims all demimaled and treatly with a singsong bust of Homer's bustier
. . . perhaps you've not been listening after all.

Omega of the pages nears, my dear friend slips away so silently as to be
lather bad but I remember him as often sequeled good

The lettuce I prefer is called romaine, my aunt's name of a different
spelling, Pie crust, thrall, declension, such

Symmetronomy, short silver, speak trash not of it. Basketball, the game of,
very late in coming to the Valley. What kind of a commitment will be made
entailingly. The sheet rock or plantain. I really think I do not want to
sleep with you. Again. Repetez apres moi. Suffice it to say metals
generally can't be precious. Though the man seemed dumb by sound, I found he
was (intelligent). Some purse strings. Seraphim and such white sheet rock.
Semblances to have to matter young as they are twice triumphant. Malt care
reasons trump cards full of zither flight. The genius violinist I can't name
had fingers George would die for and already owned. Pagannini strongly linked
to devilry. Sewn madras box of figs. Soroptimist and guessed laments. Or
lambent. Does the sweetness have a taste particularly when we're this under
duress and such. The Cayman Islands plush themselves into my postcard window.
Write carefully to write well, publisher's overstock. All yelpless, slow,
interior. Town gliding downhill. The cement of it still far from softening
amendment. A temerity.

Ground, nothing transparent fully learnable, the season sure, intact

Fixed mind also fluid mind, a woman in the throes of getting better, harmony

Sand flies, matter of perspective, "What?" endearments slow to play through

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