Mark Cunningham


They claimed the seagull wasn’t part of an ecological disaster but was only wearing blackface. I said it was a biologic micro-blog; he said it was a burp. We sank the Guatemalan economy by insisting that day follows night rather than night follows day. If that goldfinch wants to twitter, it can pay a monthly fee like anybody else. She said my brain cells were dead-end replicators and I said so were hers and she called me a copy cat.


I sobered up quick enough to see there was only one suicide bomber coming at us, so that took care of half of them right there. As if learning how to count is any protection against capitalism. He’s so far behind the times, he doesn’t even feel nostalgia for his childhood yet. Part of it was dialectical, anyway. We Olsoned that parenthesis, and now we hear the universe is never going to reach a terminal barrier, but just keep going till its energy peters out.


The ghost said it was suffering from body shame. She sat on the couch with the Death Star between her legs. Schizophrenics experience a “flattening of affect” in their emotional lives, but I just iron my shirt. Faces shone like rays of sunshine because something was exploding ninety-three million miles away.


From the biggest man-made Indian mound in the North American continent, I could see the tallest arch in the United States but not The World’s Largest Ketchup Bottle. My head is in the air, which means the pimple on the back of my arm is visible from space. She insisted she was altruistic, despite constantly spelling “spine” as “spin.” Neil Armstrong left bags of his excrement on the moon.


He said “there is no problem where there is no awareness,” and I said I wasn’t aware of that, but now that I was, I have no problem with it. They said the stocks they invested in showed they were anti-capitalist. I started to change the punctuation of me, but she said the scare quotes were already understood. You could tell the memo was about everyday life, because it kept using the word “inappropriate.”

Mark Cunningham has three books out: 80 Beetles from Otoliths; Body Language from Tarpaulin Sky; and 71 Leaves, an ebook from BlazeVOX. A new chapbook, Leftovers, is on the Gold Wake Press site.
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