Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-one
Summer 2016
Simon Perchik

Struggling against more turbulence
this broken concrete can’t shut down
and cool -your shadow’s too old

leans down and though the wall
falls closer and closer
it tries to rest your face

-a sleeping face
still circling where your forehead
mingles with rocks and weeds

-even your grave goes to pot
lets anyone point at it
as if sunlight could urge you

to spread out inside a sky
that has no days left, is lifted
face to face with the ground.

About Simon Perchik

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