Poetry

All The Peril

by

Heather Cunningham

How marvelous to be fucked in a crowded basement of my mind.
There are no stairs, not even an elevator.
Let us waste time plotting an escape.
OR
Drink it up.

Take it in.

Spread the legs of your consciousness and let it slide on in.
It feels like nothing.
It feels exactly the way you want it.

Yet, you still complain.

Exit the cave.
The weather is fine.

You may hold it if you wish but only with dirty hands.

Carrot Soup

by

Heather Cunningham

The carrot soup is delicious.
I stare into the orange ocean.
I stare into the abyss.

There is a saxophone in my ear.
I am not beat, but I am almost there.

The rain pours, but it will not clean these streets.

The ocean of orange
The ghost is yours

Did I forget to mention the abyss stares back?

A man in my ear
Nothing new
He complains about the chicken
He complains about you
Going down the list
Giving helpful hints
An arrogant ass is the first to part his lips.

Searching my mind for something profound to say
I have kept my mouth shut
Maybe you should do the same

As I leave the stranger says,
“But the carrot soup was delicious.”

If you would like to know where I fell,
Somewhere between your house and hell.