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Tag Archives: Simon Perchik
You walk past as if the first death was a bird – enormous feathers half-stone, half-outworn, one by one though they still need more time could calm these dead, spread out airborne, older than the number 10 than this hillside … Continue reading
You caress this dust as if it’s stuck drains under ripples and sap though all goodbyes keep warm in a dark lake at sunset, reek from varnish, hunted down by small stones by dying wood and from the rot and … Continue reading
You don’t read how weak it was though this windtorn composition book steadies its lettering for afternoons the way beginners wave their arms making room for the Honor Roll mixed with stone, not yet the pages – these dead are … Continue reading
As if a rope, half-bone half pulled from your chest the way this dead branch tells you everything then closes though the wood won’t burn – so many things are made from doorways and she was left inside with nothing … Continue reading
The glare this plate thins out eats the way each star tells you it’s still alone though rim to rim you bring a rain smelling from a narrow road holding down the Earth till everything is dirt and she is … Continue reading
Holding on to the others this hillside knows what it is to live alone all these years falling off-center though you no longer follow still back away till your hands and the dirt once it’s empty both weigh the same … Continue reading