Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-seven Spring 2015 |
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* Simon Perchik To warm this dirt the way these dead hold on to each other —single file brought here as darkness and longing —night after night a small handful then another and this hillside is pulled along, rescued from all the days after tomorrows though there’s not a hint your shadow can be unwound just by a wave to find more room for mornings —nothing’s changed, a single thread still circles the sky for the day you are losing letting it tug at the little cries that do not come back. |
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