GRIEFCIRCLE
given to
cupping hands
my remains
neverflowered,
this aliased body
through grass
my margins dragged
across green furrows
and bubble-screams of pond
i lay my head forward
against lily pad’s bottom
but pulling down:
my starving legs
machine-nature’s pond darkens
bloodweight too weak for push
the lily pad shrinks
above me
griefcircle,
at pond’s height
and human body, roots
unlike a tree
timing
out
MUTED SUN
[we led ourselves a shatter
gluttons among plastic hedges
choking on our enginefruits]
[us idle,
self-decaying]
our gone-on animals
cry onto us
[but we are contained
from thoughtful light]
well-buried
[meat] unwashable
Profile: Paul Cunningham
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