Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-five Spring 2011 |
* Simon Perchik I still bite the burnt cork and under the waxed lipstick --with my teeth still peel from this candy bar its baggy wig, its Harrison Street Godwin street --I know their names why can't they remember mine. They mistake me for the kid whose breath left watermarks whose floppy shoe was never found though month under month as every new calendar is searched. I begin each year unwrapping. October waiting inside even in the rain --nine pages crumpled :Spring and Summer, what's left from Winter and the Fall --October still sweetened, bathed in almonds and crinkling paper :the mask hugged till I become that oversized moon swollen from fruit and house to house that kid behind each door as every month after will be worth holding, will pass from stranger to stranger ringing and remembered. |
About Simon Perchik |