a couple new poems...

close enough

one more cup
for spare change and
one more dirty sign

and
they're tearing down
a factory
to build factory lofts

and more time
waiting on the bus
as a friday afternoon wind
blows

while they're
clearing out space
for new development.

home
is miles away.

but there is a handbill
on a crumbling wall
with the word

hope

beaming out
from beneath
the face
of
one
of
them.


cunningham
08


eclipse

a cold night
and the moon
is eclipsed.

saturn glows
yellow white
in the burnt orange light.

we spin
and
attempt influence.

we mark the passage of time.

we navigate
as best we can.

we are pushed and
shaped and bent

and bound
to the earth.

we call
ourselves

lucky.

everything,
finally,
finding
a comfortable darkness.


cunningham
08