beyond most breath a mist of elemental sentence fractured home narration bindweed part forsworn part hairline in a minute honey lambast sleet pitting the windows against driving sunshine matterhorned in on the lithe bone stricture
anyway you get that it was raining snarls and she eluded hypo-conversationalist would-be openings it seemed best just to starch the mood and say things for eclipsed new record bordering on camisole and resurrection minted from the raw spawned hemline
now forelawns eek their way out of the neighbor's point of view the case price of a dowager's commitment braces us each to exude more hexagram than thought pints to a person beside prep it's not just Monday anymore craned neck equals one's obligation
tagged by young breath cleats and fine lawn image the game that everyone a must-see turned tantrum under house arrest erosion sanctifies a furtive kind of mesh a lean-to plunked next door to depth perception maybe anybody can as easily build do-it-yourself worship and draw lots
Hello again Ms Murphy. I have just been to Jean Jenete's site and read hurtful comments by Jack, asking what is to be happening? To him Ms Murphy I said it was not right he say hurtful things to Jean, who like me, is just a simple fan of you.
Reading your work, I am struck by a sense of the lyric wishing to escape from the strictures of Langpo, and urge you go with experiment on this idea, after all, what is poem but that which is flowing over a river bed. Like graph frozen plotted moment which never can be repeated. And frozen is Frost unfolding as it go, not knowing one to next what will appear up at the page. At least I try and think similar to this when I have that Bob Frost head wearing as I write.
But you must accept my sorriness Ms Murphy, for I am only poor scribbler who wants to join up with you, as I can undertand direction which I see you in.
Reading your work, I am struck by a sense of the lyric wishing to escape from the strictures of Langpo, and urge you go with experiment on this idea, after all, what is poem but that which is flowing over a river bed. Like graph frozen plotted moment which never can be repeated. And frozen is Frost unfolding as it go, not knowing one to next what will appear up at the page. At least I try and think similar to this when I have that Bob Frost head wearing as I write.
But you must accept my sorriness Ms Murphy, for I am only poor scribbler who wants to join up with you, as I can undertand direction which I see you in.
Most Ever Yours
Anon
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