m a r k c u n n i n g h a m |
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I’m almost certain the label read "distracter beam." If I could send one video clip into space, it would be Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers tap dancing. Any alien that would respond to that would probably be worth knowing. The rain stopped, but I had to keep my wipers on because of the road spray. Another way of looking at it is with your eyes closed. He said we should all be quiet. I said speak for yourself. |
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No system of divination includes a lucky number of chigger bites. Recipes for disaster rarely give precise details. This is probably why they work so well. Some stars seen clearly by peripheral vision disappear when I look right at where I think they are. When my father and I played catch with a Superball, it was the second bounce that sent the hard rubber shooting twice as far and twice as fast and always right at my throat. |
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John and Philip woke up in a field one hundred yards off the interstate, still driving. We laughed until we could not breathe at the sentence, "They met for some crazy summer fun at a collective farm on the Baltic." I do not consciously collect carbon; however, after my death, its loss will be carefully measured. Dean knocked over the chocolate shake, picked the cup back up, then went to get a lid. |
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MARK CUNNINGHAM received an MFA from the University of Virginia, and still lives in the Charlottesville area. Poems have appeared in Sawbuck, Otoliths, and Dusie. Forthcoming from Tarpaulin Sky Press is a book currently titled Body Language, which will include two collections, Body and Primer. |
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