DM
153
Richard King Perkins II
Poetry
Zombies with Cellphones
In a land of gloom and snow
on a night of strange constellations,
we follow the action of inhuman struggle—
zombies with cellphones,
regressive incubators and pickled ice creatures
hurting each other from one direction or another.
Thundersnow lightning twists and spasms
crossing a glyph of moon
and vexation of rooks
as you create a harmful narrative trope
of saviorism
with me as your victim,
freeing me from my unmolested grove of impulses
in a ripple of lantern light,
pinked by its dying glow.
My thoughts are turning to translucent consolations,
the tongue within your terrible veil,
a filamentous, gauzy trail
informing me that I’m just a man
slightly more crazy, slightly less loyal
walker of highways in monochrome fog
a punctuation of corpses rising above.
Mingling hands through trees of silver crest;
touching meteors, swaths of living desert
in the dim grey sand of skewered dawn
absurdity glosses tomorrow awake.
I’m led by glances and tell-tale ripened glitter;
your anatomy of doeskin,
my fear of such velocity
led to limned peaks of wrack and shell
by subjective tethers—
the mirage-like voice I once thought was yours.
The Last Rays of the Sun
Pastel outcrops
dusted in macabre glow
and the lute
of a diabolical bird—
you were born
in a lascivious position
a consequence of your creation,
the original state of matter
and you’re my punishment
for lust and gluttony.
My kisses cause strawberries
to rise from your body
as light penetrates your pigment,
blending affections.
We’re attracted to the idea
of infinity—
the last rays of the sun,
a lurid rift
accentuated by the edge
of night’s profane—
a gilded chandelier,
irredeemably risen.
Pomegranate Explosion
Golden copper descends
from the latest sunset
indirectly upon you
lighting contours indescribably seen.
Someday,
we’ll dissociate like the forgotten tail
of a falling star
but tonight, our moisture circulates
without resistance, petals on pond water,
drawn together with the ease
of ghost attraction and subtle enchantments.
Smiles and your eyes begin so many things;
fingers curl to secure them
and then—
a pomegranate explosion luminesces
on the endless horizon
and a new sun appears beside us
or perhaps,
with the wish of a lover’s whisper,
we have made it suddenly appear.
Emergence
An age of cocoons
and canopic jars
reveals shouting acacias
and the return
of dead languages.
Great pyramids fall to earth
inviting
the scorn of felines,
an unexpected glint of prisms
spinning.
We reflect on light
as the first tragedy,
omniscient thought-crime,
a faith of low necessity
in the center of our existence.
The first utility;
an abstinence of reason,
is a ragged bloom, our cytospore.
Give full credit:
meaning is in the demi-pause;
the builder
retrieves her ingenuity
and something polyhedral appears—
the otherness
we are compelled to embrace.
Contraction of Sentience
Silence is sold in ounces but less—
you’ve made me a contraction of sentience
lacking external release,
horror in neverending circular motions
another’s smooth fingerpads withdrawing from sand
reinvigorating the vision of observer phenomenon
or lost colors returning
occasionally from atmospheric escape.
Yet you forget aspects of me in suspension
to occasion yourself toward taking the weight
from others
weight may be seen as synonymous with burden
sometimes your balance is sufficient
sometimes it is not.
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.