2 Poems by Mark Cunningham

Mar 20th, 2008 | By | Category: Poetry

Ship-timber Beetle

One cow, then another, ignites in the March sun, then stands in the long shadows and crops hay. Death does not level all: if you covered the earth with pyramids whose tips all reached the same height, then somehow managed to put you hand on all of them at once, they would not feel even. In space, no one can hear you scream, and if anyone could, all the helium would make your voice sound funny.


Short-winged Mold Beetle

Just because your shadow is longer doesn’t mean your stature has grown. I could tell by the way she was dressed that she was very modest and that she was wearing a pink bra. People are one thing, but when the refrigerator changes tone, you need to listen.


Mark wants you folks to know that Otoliths will be bringing out a book titled 80 Beetles, which will be a collection of, guess what, these beetle poems.

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