too

By Mitchel Cumming

18 December, 2019

Mitchel Cumming is Running Dog’s poet in residence for December and January.

Each month, a poet produces new work, which is distributed via Running Dog’s monthly newsletter—Stray. If you haven’t already, sign up to our newsletter.

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brinking
                       (to Wiggy)
____ 

yawn
like little things
what windows open onto
us
the day
in its everyness neglected
as if our names and
only our names
were proper
and in this
might hold the air
of their onliness
together

 

 

floral
                       (to Lisa)
____ 

our bodies
briefly 

dressed in
carnations 

we didn’t
pick

 

 

grotto
                       (to Maggie and Henry)
____ 

see this horse plato in my seawater
both the source of its own
orange light and mine 

forget that one thing
old greek men did
and now look at them 

what good is
the sun alone

 

 

attribute
                       (to Zoe)
____ 

coalescence is
the basic premise of
any ammunition

like the hammer
bound to sleep until
its use seems natural

i’d like to begin by guessing the politics of the masses and then dismissing them

convalescence leaves
ample room
for the actual

 

 

yes we repair
                       (to Raf)
____ 

who makes mayonnaise minuscule inedible honey i shrunk the murray
darling dont you worry your pretty little and itll rain soon anyway
you look at it weve not been verdant cept maybe colloquially since the colony