Dear Visitor,


I'm glad you're here. Thanks for stopping by.


Br. Tom Murphy


            "Can I speak plainer?" Austen, Pride and Prejudice

" Currents do not show it plainer." Stein, Tender Buttons

            “Everything is plainer when spoken than when unspoken.” Plato, Phaedrus

"Be plainer with me." Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale

            "... things are seen plainer after the events have occurred ..." Grant, Memoirs

was a boy

At key moments. alone. thinking about somewhere else. having.

to step aside. wasn't read in a book. had to find it out back.

the creek's been run over by the lawn. found it a starry cave.

where any concept becomes a trap. to step around. born right.

here. where the ground is soft. for sinking it has something.

to do. with reaching in toward the black shell's hole. below.

a dark line. it's got everything standard and sub-standard. i.

heard a face say. here's the wet margin. sung up from the sea.

we get just this much of it. then the curls fold us back. in. to.

sure a broken heart

This might be the last of it here. something to hang on to.

not enough looking or saying to empty any part of a world.

taken apart by any breath of it. what a wonder as they say.

marked by a handful of grass or random paper. gutter trash.

to become that person who understood how breath serves. say.

you'd give. if you had anything to give. well you'd give it.

no single truth. not one but a whole mess of it. underneath.

there's sturdy. contentment made of hands. so look. at this.

a pity it says

You do need some. critical acumen to understand these. no. but it helps to read.

grapheme. phoneme. word. from somewhere. on the stodgy surface. if you don't

know the places. tense up when someone leaves the room. what could you know.

the writing went on. writing went on. to become the curse we knew it could be.

so we are blessed to be able to. shift in time and space. unlike a post office.

letters in hand or pocket. nothing worked as it should have. we started to spit.

a dung beetle

Pushes our shaky ruckus to a crack in the dirt. I'm planted.

ready to bust out. in bright time. scene of a walking town.

there's the war still going on. now hardly even background.

or one in his chair. helicopter dicta redoubling one's own.

worry. nobody's not happy enough. o they did nothing hidden.

presently conformable. we had what we expected in his itch.

typically productive and gloomy down the sidewalks you know.

treated as an idea. someone would prefer an eruption. lost.

to. generations. o muted screens. without the breath say. no.

then unfolded as a new leaf is continuous like they hand me.

word by word. o vaguely repurposed without original violence.

no champion. no liar. settling into how the day meant itself.

once it began thinking. here come the insects. to celebrate.

a politics a burr a bluzzing finality. we were strangers. o.

the reality took us down. to our pieces. who saw me sulking.

rolling a strange fetal ball. ungrounded as revolted at last.

I'm not trying to push you away. I see you moving off. okay.

an american classic

The drummer thought we'd play. or one who'd never loved

sets out to know. the Age of Flowers parted the red sea so

we'd understand. we had to understand the next comes with

pennies on its eyes. useful as the vague trembling pitch

toward sunrise. when we got along real well and called

each other Albert or took to laughing up the astronomical

urges. forcing us toward summery autumnal purchases. so

we go on and into the next few pages of muscular metaphor.

short stout ships beating on against our own wobbly shore.

sweet dots sticky paper

You wouldn't understand hell I don't understand.

It's happiness all over as per these playground voices.

Book on my belly keyboard fingers in action.

What what what do you want now.

Who are any of these once they've done their worst.

Not proving anything. but having found it.

You and I dance a nearly round open course.

You're here. at last as we say. in the circuits.

You're here. as we say at last. in the circuits.

You and I dance a nearly round open course.

Not proving anything. but having found it.

Who are any of these once they've done their worst.

What what what do you want now.

Book on my belly keyboard fingers in action.

It's happiness all over as per these playground voices.

You wouldn't understand hell I don't understand.

there are others

Seems I wasn't listening at all. jumping. and failed to hear.

YOU WERE SAYING everything will be okay once we kill enough people.

But. I was born & largely remained one who. never wished to kill people.

Such a one who never wished to kill. anyone ever.

working back to

Childhood drawings. without opinions we're still bodies at rest.

Articulate feelings. tumbling not fumbling with fraud as scent.

His face. out from the green bush found an excellent surprise.

Once I. felt powerless to complete a simple curse spiked for all.

Such bodies. in hilarious urgency hurt themselves then as bent.

Weary figure. settle for cool undusted floors come back a guest.

heard it then

That one may be a contamination. a gimp. or swings.

Past a partial view. unobstructed. come back here.

With a hoop. for this is the lazy man's. poetry buck.

For this is the lazy one. poetry as granted is. one.

Unread as directions. less read than a fried circus.

Moving me to say. it confirms the needy gray police.

In their weedy cellars. we're not all. that is. not.

All. in a mirror you might find. some sky. or branch.

around and sublime

Grounded in fact pleasant. to be known and common. human. this business we lost.

For which words. a slanted windowsill. attracted all. the wrong kinds of singing.

Our immigrants were known toward. naming colors for walls. as everyone expected.

The next wave would test. a listlessness. in caves formed for our simple lies.

About. you know and understand a lot. but here around the dunes we hit. the sea.

We meant great stretches. of mind. in lovely weather. can hold us together now.

this about these

One can't often say This One Is About. about these. but go on if. or.

The poem offers an erasure of the poet.  one you know in other contexts. only to be known as poet in the poem. invert the slam. a general anonymity can be helpful.

The poem is a kind of repetition that without trying makes cliché impossible. sacrifices are made for unsentimental saying. a kind of honesty. but one that eliminates itself in time. not toward dishonesty but toward nada.

The poem goes. and stops. there's enough pretense for everyone.

The poem is always laughing at itself but never at you. there's no escape from this. or the sadness.

The poem finds its lexicon in surfaces. you'll receive what you recover.

The poem is still smiling despite all the rotten things we've done.

The poem is happy enough without any ideas. and takes its pronouns seriously.

these next hundred years or so

Arrivals heard as trucks and water in the pipes. for heat. our new captivity.

Your temper is like. sour politics underfunded childcare. a new suit. less.

Music than anyone wants. which is none. bound for glory in the sense of rope.

Incising wrists and ankles. An. heroic struggle with our deaf. blind captors.

when some light

Cut into the life. had it been a page. did you want to read it and know.

Incised or incited here. a white man proliferates. in blank landscapes.

They are not coherent but. willing to be sad for the honing. flint blue.

Yes the mind's got a problem. for pouring blood like that on. a cultic.

Ruin. a flat or unhistorical breath that might have. sliced understanding.

Thinner than first philosophy. sorry grimace. sloppy sophomoric messes.

Couldn't be bothered to. deal with chaos. let's just say the arms ache for.

A playground.

in a house

You can probably. overdo the window staring. but when the lines go shifty.

Enjoyable as a crossed bridge. did you say ever think. no that's not what.

A fool in every saying. goes quiet. the window holds a contemplative dolt.

Or take the sky. as a guess. a more reasonable way to resist the bastards.

Then. hardly fog but close enough. when you cut it with a 'love ya honey'.

We've had a time. a solid thin ledge. utterly ours without pigeon scandal.

How did any of us. say we managed to. guess the days or nights left us an.

Art. so none of them burn in the same way. and some are synced with decay.