Plainsong

Cool litres of imbuances reciprocate curved lines. No longer afternoon, the power alive and throttling some conflicting urgencies. A mother and a son respond to the abundance as though there were no rigor, limitations, or forensics. Where a tattoo would be, he's laced the insecurities to seem intentioned. Myocardial's a word that neither uses. Out the window, scenery and rapidly moving fresh air trespass by. A painting in somebody's head drifts toward the forefront after paintings. The one more loved has left the frame. Sculped to power by virtue of beholding. Rarely do they cross creeds. Ballast crumbcakes its way out of relationship. They settle in the wear of what they've known. Pondering injustice as they've known. Semiautonomous as riddles are. Baked slyly in the name of whole grain futures. Dependable, illusive, bronzed through repetition.

Portraiture, as moving as a text, revolving door, dissemblances

---

Sheila E. Murphy | Shoreline, Traffic
Contents | Mudlark No. 8