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  • Simon Perchik

Untitled Poem by Simon Perchik


To keep from being lost forever

you sift the way this dirt

is shared though each morning

hides another stone

that has no room for you

—you hunt in packs

as if each grave feeds

only on waterside

and no longer flow

—what you join is an agreement

to match—the dirt here

is different, wears black

can’t hear the cries

that never made it out

or wherever their roots come from

—you collect mouths, count

and in your fist kisses too

won’t be coming home.

—Simon Perchik


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