Color Field Spacer prose poems by Mark Cunningham
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A red suck draws into a wall. The deeper you look the more it comes out at you. Not the steady stop, but the instant can I make it? Even sitting in a red chair, you breathe faster. When you close your eyes, you have to outlast the crimson beneath before it's rest.

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