TWO POEMS
by
Sheila E. Murphy
copyright © 2004 all rights reserved
February
now a long stretch made easy by adjustment [clinical] given by heart across the floor across a mirror image of the sky [unpainted] Linda (word for pretty) is accomplished Linda seeds the elements the body has unto itself
one leaves (t)her(e) feeling with thinking atop mussed hair birchermuesli at La Grande Orange where Kristi is these few minutes in a sprig of time away from work one in one's soft clothes
crisp inflections of a personality behind the counter seeming thinking something others are not thinking it is clear this is a Friday in a little while one will be phonefound listening to someone's rich [opinion] of six nouns one offers platter-free
how many instances of plush life can be fleshed into this many cubic feet
the therapist used to say "what are you telling yourself"
the response distinct from the repose is "shelflife"
how long each lasts
how many moments can be [can seem] extracted from an hour
the mirth or mourning
name the day
name the day after left (over)self
narration
I have long refused to veto the yard That is not in me rain collapses maybe your nerve endings elongate merely tapestry and if it is collectible I'm replete with innuendo I remember Mother's saying that my favorite film was full of that, saying repeatedly (for adverbs are my very soul) that ranch life could not possibly resemble this ninety-four pound loveliness who grants my chambers heterodox calamitous break dockers if in fact these ordinal data have been compromised the dream mean while last night positioned me to speak against a poisoning that I could neither prove nor quite define all I knew was people whom I loved were dying and I could only protest to whores who had sold more than bodies in the dream I specified that real whores were not the same they had a service the transaction was repaid perhaps but when a soul and other lives come into play the green village perplexed by another acreage went silent and went soft went velvet and went moist went stark then roseate until capital gains were all the nexus and our ilk seemed meant to fade into indomitable delerium the strictures therein rode their way to mouch south willows and a person could just rock on the porch sway concept going forward back to formulate another's sleep the sort of rain one alters is the nest in mind before a person lights some substance in the fireplace and one need not drive to prescott to know filthy flowers can be new again can be remembered the drive along is crafted and the music so much silence and if I just had the right tools everything would have been seanced just right tilted toward the hills that ache to print a little tonelet mimicry of elfin song just one immediate lithe decibel that leads into another and
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sheila E. Murphy's most recent book publications are CONCENTRICITY (Pleasure Boat Studio, NYC, 2004) and LETTERS TO UNFINISHED J. (winner of the 2001 Gertrude Stein Award, Green Integer Press, Los Angeles, 2003). Forthcoming is PROOF OF SILHOUETTES (Stride Press, UK). Her home is in Phoenix, Arizona, where she co-founded and coordinated the Scottsdale Center for the Arts Poetry Series for 12 years.

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