the square footage of my heart rife with affection leaves no room for the methodical low-meaning tasks forced granularity beneath the shine imposed upon an undeserving population of ingredients that make their way in to my ravenous young appetite for living near the hungry and the upstarts who insist on justice for renditions of new heart
there is no space left for mirror chips and sadness undeserving windowspace that sprawls across the artificial tidiness of boundaries that chisel distance between intensity and lukewarm habit of half noticing where passion could be frantic in its overtures to live among the signs in daily life of rigor and the poses that reflect to full perfection every noticeable venture meaning sacraments are here in voice and dream equivalent to surface stories being made within the full reach of eternity sheila e. murphy
