Sheila E. Murphy
by Michelle Greenblatt
814 – 318 Place
Ocean Park WA 98640 USA
Mare of the night scalds dreams foisted not made.
"I crave because I am running out." Each likely pain-verb's supercharged ("smashing continents together just to hear the land scream"), so that sensory candescence of the violation thralls as if forecast were daunted by accurate prehistory as small precisely and as widespread as it is.
Vivid to the tensile power, text painstakingly crafted yet run full-on scorches the outer reaches of adjectives that preempt voicing equal to unvoiced pain. That requires capacity to release a found, compound vocabulary, stretching the already pulled archway. An immensely complicated, multisensory peel of every known or imagined protectorate of the spirit. Specificity of fear is central here "knifed by the milk of the honeyrivers." Nothing ever lifts. The writing fluently decimates any conceivable illusion of safety in the face of the most scathing pain. At each reading, horror continues to chastise the lie that this is not infinity.