one poem by paul cunningham

POET OF IRON

to look

to value

to write

a landscape

in slabs of steel

to remind Lancelot

that no body is

invisible

to remember

no body is

of the state

to drink from

the languagegrail

of cosmos darkness

to drink away

the prison

of reality

the bestseller’s

shallow realism

drink drink

until the captive

sees inside-out:

flesh, spirit, and soul

or what is called soil

eyes locked with

a sunspot something

like a scar so many

light-years away

until eyes molten

until eyes rock

two tiresome sculptures

to become modeled,

carved, cast, or cut

a grail that will never

be found or held

is the ultimate poem

to think beyond

the topology

of any place

any bloodthirsty

country

the strong smell

hate that

enshadows

the West

to iron out

the details

of a space-turned-

outside-in

to Christ

to smear

to ignite the moon

across your body

and your electro-

shock lips

eating up icons

bone by bone

the demystification

of sculpture as

sculpture

to hold

to kiss

to queerly render

a fool’s heart

to forge a suit

of armor

to roll

to crease

to fold

to identify only

as weight

as equilibrium

as Poet