<< Issue 33

Jimmy Cummins

Snide

 

paper snaps 
conclave to converse
low thud
distant hum
in this heat
the smell of salt and soap
suppose the heart didn’t feel
didn’t crush a dream
strip the veneer
spatial and transparent 
truth be told
admission 
i don’t want prizes 
just regular forms 
of acknowledgement 
heartfelt
pitiful
truth be told
i crave structure 
theoretical or otherwise
in half time
to exclude extraction 
lord
laud the power of consumption 
danielewski sell cups
t-shirts and facemasks
literature as mould 
left damp and coughing 
all my merch
will say Gowl
instigating 
dialing the temperature down 
he asks me if i am happy
my middle swells and drops 
looking into the distance
i see myself watching 
and the sun will never go down
these are not monolithic
just embroidered flowers 
deep blue 
framed to precision
conditions of quality 
i have no outward facing dog
or grand vision of prosody

force of equality
destroyer of worlds
writing as fetish
stick our fingers in ink and be still
burn pages at both ends 
because WT actual F
pedestals are for hanging the rich
lets not quote ‘bits’ we learned in school
and pretend it matters
lets not make unreadable books 
stories with line breaks 
strain to be heard
above low flying aircraft 
oh please stop me
the focus is felt
5 miles down
in the pit of your
persona
‘whats happening”
you ask
as if the world is not burning
reads like a smaller font
a five point plan
these lines
just float
and crash

 

 


Jimmy Cummins is a poet, editor and teacher based in East London. With Andy Spragg, he edits RunAmok Press. Previous books include Cities (distance no object, 2021) and Flash Bang (Veer 2011).

 

jhcummins@gmail.com


<< Issue 33