An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
RICHARD KING PERKINS II
Night pours from the juices
of an aqueous meadow
maple and honey locust,
the sap of your body's condensation.
Steeped in the primal caustic,
vague clues in the underbrush
my head is in your lap again
and you tell me why friendship
is so difficult a link
for the strangest animals.
The oil on your fingertips
opens pathways to greater skies;
the perfume of living images
and metaphoric hearing.
Your subtle presence
plays host to my mortality
a reclamation of moon calf
is your shameless servitude;
to know my most simple movements
with sumptuous renown,
entrancing me by making our wild
a better dawn
than nature's self-arising.
The world runs on obvious things
and incidental felicities;
the sterility of an exploitative culture,
the men you've left behind.
Your depth implies
gulls breeding in half light
on the margins of Antarctica,
the other dimension so many have quested for.
There will only be a smattering
of dialogue in this act—
the rest is all barren streets and drama.
Your claims are many;
and a hypnagogic kiss
incinerating syllables both charnel and carnal
as they swab
and floss their way forth into air,
an eruption of locusts and frogs,
the desperation of disjunct tandems
Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best of the Web nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.