here's a calc- I made meself,
says seven plus seven equals
do-what-you-want-with-it-my-eyes-are-closed.
(I've lost the urge to ratify.)
get going on an earthen dowry.
start gripping algorithmic trash.
the tuppence one is worth two of the same
unless we're splitting hairs again.
my heirs are truant from the mix.
have you been harboring resentment in accord with
this presentiment that loneliness can save
the allocation near the ocean of dispatch?
over time, the pace is ratcheted up
phone poles and other relics. the spelling bee
attracts concelebrants from multiple
denominations, each proceeding on faith alone.
sheila e. murphy
