the body breaks cradle sessions open to strangers the music isn't coming via wood or steel or silver
here in undecorated morning of a room resembling the nothing-going-on-but-daytime-television look/feel of a motel after checkout before checkin language isn't shorthand isn't long is not the vehicle for greatness isn't bright and fails to evidence intelligence you slip from shared idea you have known and everything that might have come back to the mind becomes diverted to the heart and then rejected as it fails to match the temperature of fondness sheila e. murphy
