Gulls Swept Low
When I wake
there you are
nearly beside me
the sky is greenish
filled with giant yellow windmills
our agreed-upon heaven,
gulls swept low
by esoteric changes.
I try to respect
whatever sense of boundaries
but it’s hilarious;
the cognitive dissonance
both of us must go through
is always the first subject
to be omitted.
The story about the little girl
with a hulking, silent robot for a nursemaid
who she desperately loves
but then later outgrows
is the saddest allegory ever written
you got pregnant
with my words
and our children
from another language,
I press you against
external door skins
our senescent whore skins
back alley kisses
in scrabbling succession.
The scent of brick buildings
lies hard upon us
ignited by the wine
of dandelions and old fruit
of insensible epiphany
never to forget
when I was fleetingly he.
I believe in love
and all other
the undeserved nights
which we cannot bear to keep
Against the Sudden Bright
A newfound anti-algorithm will either bring us together
or prevent us from ever meeting.
We are muted orange and neither of us
is to be believed; burdened by deniers that our mutual vision
somehow extends across solder shades and antimony countryside.
My mouth is hypergothic, licking wildly at the candies
of your lavish, distant gift. We unmake worlds
into unique forms so that we can be both relevant and meaningless.
Your gentle ellipse succumbs to almost hands,
quelled by the disrespect of shroudsmiths and light invasive.
You stand in fields of hematite and ethereal sacrosanct,
plying everlasting fabrications, and still, you are merciful.
Mastodons graze somewhere in exquisite assembly,
swallowing pink-hued clouds and subterranean fungi.
If I never find you there, it wasn’t for lack of trying.
I partially exist in a diesel-scented world of unscrupulous possibilities,
all oyster-gray and mourning lace, where your voice whispers
so softly as to be almost unheard. Even when the last vibration
ceases to be, we will have another wholly unrelated future
in which to make the same mistakes repeatedly.
Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL 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.