Color Field Spacer prose poems by Mark Cunningham
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Mix of venous leak and August dust? When your tongue distills the juice, sensation seeps into numbness or a drench beyond your limits. There's a Mulberry Street in Montgomery, Alabama. You could no more tell what's on that street than chart the lines between the second and third fingers of your right hand. When you imagine it, the air is clotted with crepe myrtle. Dusk. Headlights on but they make no difference. When you press the breaks, you feel for an instant that the pedal is connected to another car.

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number 21 in the 2River Chapbook Series   Color FieldContents Chapbook Archives 2River