A blood of live wood is a memorable thing 
How you espouse the color blue 
Ideally some of this should not need sequins 
Extra colors I would pawn if 
Puppets were arrested victuals 

Allow me to be mainstream for one afternoon 
Write something popular 
Remind me not to bore into 
Confessions parasitic as the sultry damned 



Wicker walks torn 
Bar codes spawn 
A willow apt to 
Stiffen gilt and 
Shoulder burdens 

Fiction learns back- 
Hand defrayal of 
Cost centrist 
Politesse (bark 
Numbers, coin-fed 

What did you  
Wipe the floor 

Fervent differs from 
A recent 

Favorite El hombre's 
Prayer copious 
Lament become 
A noun 


Improvisation stirs the thing already there 
I'll be a moment before blossoming 
To the full extent of the law 
If you have to be convinced of ecstasy, don't 
Target where you flirted with arriving 

The principal would like to see you down the hall 

Slowly and with stillness a rapport builds to a glaze 
This thirsty morning 
Listen for immobile reputationed timepiece  
Very much a blur 

Time to have rested properly and quietly 
Forceps make believe and gentler men 
Than filtering the seams 
Planets of sorts 

Sun coaches me this  
Composite of the once with silver 
Pasteurized and promising this 
Monday sketched barely before  
Blossoming to the full extent of the law 


Daughters lap up commerce for their father 
To negotiate and be a shining father to forget 

Daughters do not bother to reflect or beam 

Daughters acquire and mull a moment over acquisitions 

Daughters radio desire to others who are daughters too 

Daughters insist and listen to the acquiescing 
Of the fathers 

Daughters are in voice sometimes 
They do not sing 

Daughters are a litmus for the father 
Chancing loss of love and pictures null and void in little frames 


Describe myself so you 
Erase the parts unlike 
Myself this therapy a stone's  
Throw against  
Surface having to become wide, long 

Am longing then piecemealed 
Each little 
Work chips off 
A quatrain of my personality 
In you collected as 
Replacive, similar 
To gestures with your hands 
As though my hands 

I see, I hear no similarities 
Cross-dream little 
Not washable blue 
Intentional squeak room 
In the mix and likely 
Deleterious for you 
According to the RAM 
In your machine distinct from mine 

(c) 1998, by Sheila Murphy

ZC Poetry Page