Simon Perchik: New Poems |
by Simon Perchik |
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SIMON PERCHIK This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it www.simonperchik.com * A single charm and the air slows though what you breathe in is clustered with stones falling into stones -even here you use the ruined to anchor between one miracle and another -shoulder to shoulder with no place to go these graves are opened for stars half coming back, half the way your breath covers the dirt takes hold and lifts from under. * You expect more from rain, point though cupped in your hand there's no sign when these stones pulled it to the ground as mouths broken open devouring the Earth -all that's left standing is the way moonlight enters with just enough darkness to touch down everywhere at once and not have to remember -the sky owes you, should stick cover your skin with a toss made from a single name coming to a close -splash is what you count on -place to place watering the small door that opens at night. * Not yet certain, half stone half held back -wave after wave rattles it, makes it start over louder, distracted by the sound that is not your shoulders gathering around this grave no longer facing the fragrance riverbeds become once they dry by calling out to each other clog your mouth with salt and nearby -what you hear is edging closer has doubts, lost count the way these rocks are winded and one by one broken up as flowers and your arms. * Dragging one leg you dust the way sunlight changes colors once it touches down and this rag spreading out along the limp that carries you away wiping off weeds, winds and those webs spiders are taught to listen with just their shadow for distances -you smother as if one death would point where the others let you and cover the Earth with mouths that never close though you tug, taking root in wobble, losing hold strutting into these corners pulled by a closeness that is not dirt or moving. * Inside this glass its sand flowing between the hours and shoreline -you drink waves, not sure one grave would pull you under give in to the small stones you swallow twice covering your mouth with beach grass, harbors and sea birds flying toward you no longer keeping track bringing you more cries and expect an answer -you water rock that never ripens though your shadow is rotting on the ground pouring from these dead as moonlight and left behind. |
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