Sheila Murphy
from Jazz Fingerings #28
The wheels of melody keep flow to selves waning in near distance
close to baths of ostinato formed, released, let go from thought
in tow. Pressed 4/4 feeling grasps the fevered light, the still shot
posted in some undue window endowed with state of grace
and feathery remains of what the mind holds dear as if
a heart's distance away from body raw to purpling segues
into maze repeating selves to date unknown, unfounded,
remaindered near the hollow waltz of echoed agitation while
contained in situ framed then cracked then leisured open wide.
Bass creaks into piano made thunder punching up the solstice
practically unrecognizable with personality. The tiptoe plink
of instrumental sheer curtains presses open some window the mind
holds still. And now plastered across mid-landscape scaffording
the upward crawl on bass neck resuscitates keyboard pastures un-
anticipated only a row ago. Now that rumble threads its way
away from minor-key forbearance until stillness forms a rest
from stippling percussion points toward blend of ratchety motion
like petty steel ingrained into moist upstart wind plashing
into points of threshold at a moment's notice brimming
with what next and fortified with hampers full of unknown
tread made flat for roadways to be measured long.
from Jazz Fingerings #29
How does vibrato blond along the path nobody has yet walked.
How do sequels spark thin distance from leftover sunlight recollected
more than felt. The arms open alto warmth past wampum fragile as
fraternal light. How come motion tricks its way to flesh moan pitched
into an upper register? It's silence to which we acquiesce when tenderness
traipses into view felt small or threadbare. Now is the time for vocals
to be cleared away and fingers locate better sound in tension then alert toward
quiet that redeems first thought best thought as the tonal crawl releases
echoed falling as the act of reaching rinses what is left of maturation
we call music in the downpour of a few unbracketed grace tones shifted
into unlikely then probable sostenuto brushing hands touching the keys.
Saxokiss fledges open and closed, the barbells swift toward scheme
maybe melody again after miles of hurt that land on acreage as crops
might crimp a future sustenance. She is so pure in surety, she is so wild
with pastel hurt that even warbling of breastfed reed tones small away
with uncensored light. The nudge that turns momentum tames the wield
of pathways to fresh melody. We're all in this to ride together toward
some sane thing proposed. I learn to love dependently after independence
reprieves my inclination to silver something brass. To date the split line
of melody turns tones half robust, more tasted than turned down. A smooth,
soft bed of tempered choices from threads picked from shell-safe washing forth.
from Jazz Fingerings #30
Tristesse won't lift, and rain seems tall again. Against the act
of walking walkways. Once the breath is heard, reeds matt finish
a prime furnishing shown the door until voice claims sequential livery.
In keeping with mensch soliloquy attributed to mastery beyond
the tendering of tenor safety that crowds out harmony until the final chord.
Struck with kept moments left in the hopper to be found
some southerly wind lit day. Proponents of nothing listen and transform
once translated to the kiss of keepsake. Hand signals clandestine as a romp
apart from diaries. Absorbing quiescent feathering of a touched clump
of keys that lead imaginary voice home. Now and then amounts to code
with egg wash left across top surfaces if only to distract the eyes,
the hearing heart, and chain away the thought of solitude
until breath taken dawn ambles toward the sole dream left on the table
where only softness can be seen. Dissolving within bounds still warms the skin
that covers syllables ensconced in what-if pads dusk green qua shells of thought.
Repetition swells into unpredictability as yarn unspools itself
to the rhythm of drum sweep across the likely fields chalked with sotto
flight from schedules and flotsam if you please. The pleasure once mined
now floats apart from mainland stretch. A faculty of pressure tells
aligns with corner sitting where plucked guitar stings open
precise as decibels left on hold unclaimed.
from Jazz Fingerings #31
Autistic shepherds do not quite die holy. Irrational number makes a face,
a fascicle for the time being, quarked unflavorly with syntax echoing
the margin feel of reciprocity if requisite. The substance shifts the mood
of radiating tonality. Minot, ND turns focal in the instant claimed
for no practical value. Bud-lets of pointillist would-be collectives
earn shape of the cusp striking one. At one with situation independence,
blasphemy remains in the ear of the listener free of identity politics
and temblor moans un-motioning to high held west of fear unpaginated
wantonness curating non sequiturs drawn together in hypothetical
rhumba meant to isolate and charge magnetic parch, arch energy
starched to (with)stand what urgency parks too close to the papacy,
still papery with hyenas, fifth smallest body of lurk, framed in one
photograph far from Turks and Caicos where lambent views via
periscopes face the sea where three perfect sailing vessels free
themselves across the act of drift when mixed with (mis)direction.
Pierced ears of monody come through the screen all summer past.
I rise to tiny inner wires alike. Identicality seems consoling near
pressure-cooked solemnity. Why me mussed like brushed hair,
the hearing test by the audiologist revealed near perfection.
What to do with that. Incur the Braille, find discernment, not
summer again so long as plucking sounds come true.
from Jazz Fingerings #33
Dexterity blonds its way home to the arcade of leaflets cast upward into tree shade.
Who are we anymore as freedom takes its shape in threads of window light.
Is sun fictitious in young minds. As we punctuate another person's breath, I hear
bass predicate late seasons apart from what I want to know. I want to know the handful
of blistering repetition that is not the same as one measure ago. She chooses hoops
over the bulimic pulp of rafters leapt across and charged forever from within because
there are no words to circumscribe depth. Perception reinvents what will recur
unless drawn butter dreams itself in some half tepid mind. Stop being small I pray
as the crawlspace fills with petulance. I don't want the wax earplugs anymore
near sleep. His breath is hers in chambers where is justice when will soft light
learn to come before eraser-ship how why will points. Whose. Stippled. Menace
turns this room into formatted thrum and kismet according to new forms of pulse.
Someone somewhere subdivide the heft of number and present it on a plate,
a platform for musical thought ascended from rhizome form and kept intact
plain plaid erased from crawling up stairwells and sitting down. A spell connotes
more splendor to come with leafage, fronds, and sturdy trunks. I hear
slight muffling astride the piano unfolding grace. Shaped continuo beyond
a shallow grave for treble clef. Tremolo sustains whole tones. I winnow every day
into cloud cover that will spill. Xylophonetic braids split open for the assembled
fivefold gang strings pressed into service of aligned self mushroomed
from a single seed like impulse made upward and crosswise orchid still pulsating.