the sound of rain at night. trees silhouetted in the winter moonlight. a dog barking in the distance. glittering silence. golden pauses. the held breath of the sun as clouds pass over. cool water against dry skin. smoke curling from a red glass ashtray into a dim room. a car horn outside. suspicions about the nature of the soul. addiction and the face of darkness. descent and despair and redemption.
a particular note and its exact placement in space. dark matter. gravity. the heavy weightlessness of the truth being translated thru a trumpet. all the possibilities contained within one man. the edges of the universe and how to walk upon them.
a razor blade and a prayer. a sketch of someplace we've never been, but return to always.
the first time
I heard
Sketches of Spain
by Miles Davis,
the first time
those long long
impossible
bell-clear sunrise notes
eased from my speakers,
the flutes like flowers
opening,
the strings like dew,
Miles up and lifting,
the clouds all red in the distance,
drums sound like a question being
answered in the quiet of what is to come,
the first time
a majesty of
infinite
transience
swinging, then curving
and dropping into
the blues of
orchestral sadness,
timpani,
castanets, oboe,
very minor then
Miles peeking thru the mist
and licking with horn
the cheek of the reclining music
as it wakes again.
the first time,
crickets in the blue,
a muted violet singing,
pure clean light
the first time,
every time,
a fanfare accents tambourine
I lay back, swept away, made magnificent by the note,
A strange freak improvising upon an old IBM typewriter, Cunningham prefers leathery Bordeaux wines, mid-sixties Miles Davis and sleeping past noon whenever possible. He's published seven books of poetry including ‘Thru the Heart of This Animal Life, A Measure of Impossible Humor’ (Liquid Paper Press; 2005), And Still The Night Left To Go: Poems & Letters (Bottle of Smoke Press; 2006) and Flowers In The Shadow Of The Storm (Sunnyoutside, 2007), as well as hundreds of poems throughout the small and large press. He is a Core Member of the Guerilla Poetics Project and hopes you join up and help spread the word. Cunningham lives with is girlfriend of sixteen years and his dog of one year in a dusty suburban compound outside of Atlanta, Ga. He can be reached at his blog, Upright Against the Savage Heavens. To read a selection of Christopher’s poetry on the showcase section of this site, click here.
