Sheila E. Murphy
Here I Am
Nimble fingering for F# above middle C, you know me. Old Centrigade in retrofit, about to slit open the frame in search of a redaction. What is to become of me? A wilderness in keeping with the stance across the dancefloor. Chills pressure siloes of withdrawal. Comma suffix overdose. Close up shop or host a diamond jubilee. The rules are old. Don’t overdo, I’m told. A licked shut promise often underplayed. Can you remember any other day like this? Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus. Feeble obligation stalls its marksman ship shape scruffy as a doll’s house withering with fest. The rest is draw-down clumsy on a par with wrested, filched, or glommed-onto reforms. New norms.
Return-ity, some dross, a finer picture of a thought
About the writer:
Sheila E. Murphy, Ph.D, is an American text and visual poet who has been actively publishing since 1978. She is the recipient of The Gertrude Stein Award for her book Letters to Unfinished J (Green Integer Press, 2003). She lives in Phoenix, Arizona.
Image: Image 3 by Sheila E. Murphy. No medium specified. No size specified. By 2018. By permission.
