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