Poetry
too
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.
• • •
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