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Untitled Poem by Simon Perchik

July 14, 2018



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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