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Friday, May 02, 2025

Joy, a poem by myself (Trevor Cunnington)

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Joy


It churns smokelike out from the belly

in waves and gurgling noises, accompanying 

drink, festivals, dance, and song


gains momentum once let off the leash

spreads through a cluster of humanity

as if contagious, as if necessary for survival;


it can be found on a beloved’s face at 

airports, train stations, and bus terminals;

it swallows long absences,

in bellies with room enough for loneliness

and its disappearance, slowly, dry ice clouding 

the room and simulating blindness.


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