SurVision Magazine / Simon Perchik

* * *

Step by step each morning
is everywhere at once, closing in
and though you count on it

you begin to bake instead
takes classes as if the sun
has room for another sun

and its crust at last break open
for air – after each funeral
you learn to make crumbs

– with just two fingers
held close the way the Earth
is emptied by a small stone

kept warm in your mouth
and once set out with you
closer to the ground.

* * *

These sheep have no choice either
though even in summer
they still want to hear the truth

just by staring back at the grass
lifelike – it's not for you
they hold power here, let go

nothing, not their fleece
not these sleeves, face to face
– you have no right to stand so close

as if a second sky would wave you past
make room, gather in the Earth
and lift: a small hillside

anything! to mourn – the dead
are here somewhere
not yet marble, not yet enough.

* * *

This path so like the others
doesn't know where else to go
and for each funeral

you build another hallway
in another mountain, the palaces
filling with a great rockslide

though you're never sure, the shovel
is bent from sunsets and distances
has hands already coming due

and what chance has the small room
this frail stone gives off
coming here to die.

Simon Perchik is a poet and an attorney from New Jersey whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The Osiris Poems published by box of chalk in 2017.

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue Three SIMON PERCHIK * * * Step by step each morning is everywhere at once, closing in and though you count on it you begin to bake instead takes classes as if the sun has room for another sun and its crust at last break open for air – after each funeral you learn to make crumbs – with just two fingers held close the way the Earth is emptied by a small stone kept warm in your mouth and once set out with you closer to the ground. * * * These sheep have no choice either though even in summer they still want to hear the truth just by staring back at the grass lifelike – it's not for you they hold power here, let go nothing, not their fleece not these sleeves, face to face – you have no right to stand so close as if a second sky would wave you past make room, gather in the Earth and lift: a small hillside anything! to mourn – the dead are here somewhere not yet marble, not yet enough. * * * This path so like the others doesn't know where else to go and for each funeral you build another hallway in another mountain, the palaces filling with a great rockslide though you're never sure, the shovel is bent from sunsets and distances has hands already coming due and what chance has the small room this frail stone gives off coming here to die. Simon Perchik is a poet and an attorney from New Jersey whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The Osiris Poems published by box of chalk in 2017.
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