Mark Cunningham

Second Story

Starfish  

            Dreams that no matter what button you push, the floors keep flicking past, 33, 34, 35, that you’re walking on a long bridge, no land in sight, cars passing closer and closer as you near the vanishing point, which does not recede--this is the star for their wishing, voices warping as it pries the calcium shell, digesting and eliminating in the dark.  It sits on its table.  Imagine biting it--creme wafers.  The brittle sweetness you got after school as a reward.

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