Steven Cudahy @stevencudahy@mastodon.scot · activity timestamp 5 days ago It's a poem. #SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 30 January 2026 - lung. Read more Read less Translate alt A screenshot of a poem. It reads as follows. Air like a future hole yet to be dug. Like dirt. Something to be removed to make something else that's really a nothing. Down there tiny fingers will sort the fine particles. Sifting for stuff that sustains this semblance of life for seconds longer. The way children wrestle through mountains of waste. Brown skin in sunshine on the TV. Cast-off-costumed and risking burial beneath what's left by our continued tidal abandonments. Air like knowing it shouldn't be this way and not knowing what to do about it. Torsioned ache in my chest from too much chocolate and too many discarded plastic wrappers. The bad guys don't die first some of those kids will go before I do. Some probably gone since the video was shot. I want to breathe it all in suck it deep and rough. One lung for me and one for the world. As if I could purify. As if I could filter the long dark to foam in my bleak blood and cosset the shadows of what may be my soul or just an emptiness the wind howls through seeking what, exactly? Atonement for a half billion wasted breaths by the time I'm in the hole, by the time I become the absence. A shape in the world slowly swallowing and leaking. A lung that has forgotten how to be part of a body. #SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 30 January 2026 - lung. A screenshot of a poem. It reads as follows. Air like a future hole yet to be dug. Like dirt. Something to be removed to make something else that's really a nothing. Down there tiny fingers will sort the fine particles. Sifting for stuff that sustains this semblance of life for seconds longer. The way children wrestle through mountains of waste. Brown skin in sunshine on the TV. Cast-off-costumed and risking burial beneath what's left by our continued tidal abandonments. Air like knowing it shouldn't be this way and not knowing what to do about it. Torsioned ache in my chest from too much chocolate and too many discarded plastic wrappers. The bad guys don't die first some of those kids will go before I do. Some probably gone since the video was shot. I want to breathe it all in suck it deep and rough. One lung for me and one for the world. As if I could purify. As if I could filter the long dark to foam in my bleak blood and cosset the shadows of what may be my soul or just an emptiness the wind howls through seeking what, exactly? Atonement for a half billion wasted breaths by the time I'm in the hole, by the time I become the absence. A shape in the world slowly swallowing and leaking. A lung that has forgotten how to be part of a body. #SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 30 January 2026 - lung. Reply Boost or quote Boost Quote You cannot quote this post Like More actions Copy link Flag this post Block
alt A screenshot of a poem. It reads as follows. Air like a future hole yet to be dug. Like dirt. Something to be removed to make something else that's really a nothing. Down there tiny fingers will sort the fine particles. Sifting for stuff that sustains this semblance of life for seconds longer. The way children wrestle through mountains of waste. Brown skin in sunshine on the TV. Cast-off-costumed and risking burial beneath what's left by our continued tidal abandonments. Air like knowing it shouldn't be this way and not knowing what to do about it. Torsioned ache in my chest from too much chocolate and too many discarded plastic wrappers. The bad guys don't die first some of those kids will go before I do. Some probably gone since the video was shot. I want to breathe it all in suck it deep and rough. One lung for me and one for the world. As if I could purify. As if I could filter the long dark to foam in my bleak blood and cosset the shadows of what may be my soul or just an emptiness the wind howls through seeking what, exactly? Atonement for a half billion wasted breaths by the time I'm in the hole, by the time I become the absence. A shape in the world slowly swallowing and leaking. A lung that has forgotten how to be part of a body. #SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 30 January 2026 - lung. A screenshot of a poem. It reads as follows. Air like a future hole yet to be dug. Like dirt. Something to be removed to make something else that's really a nothing. Down there tiny fingers will sort the fine particles. Sifting for stuff that sustains this semblance of life for seconds longer. The way children wrestle through mountains of waste. Brown skin in sunshine on the TV. Cast-off-costumed and risking burial beneath what's left by our continued tidal abandonments. Air like knowing it shouldn't be this way and not knowing what to do about it. Torsioned ache in my chest from too much chocolate and too many discarded plastic wrappers. The bad guys don't die first some of those kids will go before I do. Some probably gone since the video was shot. I want to breathe it all in suck it deep and rough. One lung for me and one for the world. As if I could purify. As if I could filter the long dark to foam in my bleak blood and cosset the shadows of what may be my soul or just an emptiness the wind howls through seeking what, exactly? Atonement for a half billion wasted breaths by the time I'm in the hole, by the time I become the absence. A shape in the world slowly swallowing and leaking. A lung that has forgotten how to be part of a body. #SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 30 January 2026 - lung.
