assorted pieces
Simon Perchik
*
You limp the way a caterpillar
is already forgetting how to crawl
scrapes its wings for the controls
growing wider in sunlight
to get a better grip
and over you the sky again, so close
though one leg weighs too much
--you almost make liftoff, the cane
aluminum, almost rain and marble
and the fuselage dragging on the ice
as if it would remember why stillness
heals and your plaster cast
dreading the thaw, the slow turn
pressed lifeless and against your thighs
the softening wingtips, the rain and bone.
*
Again both hands! this pen
half foam, half frost
half held for its heft
its breaking apart :the pair
useless, my left arm
the way every heart empties
from just one side though here
is where as if by changing hands
you return to read the light
and under this pen
its waterfall --always two hands
scrapping more paper
for its grass
twigs and dry stones.
*
As if this rock still had musk
could even now bring down
some boundary line --with both shoulders
Casey rubs against the moat
the great hall --once inside
yells for blankets, more string, the kid
rigs the hillside closer, a sky
side by side with kitchen chairs
grazing on the huge tapestries
still scented with the way snow
will cling to this castle door
he lets me open, let in his steaming horses
bridles, robes open at the magnificent throat
spreading my arms --let in
the stones for drinking water.
*
You walk the way these leaves
learn from each other, are lowered
and slow behind their root
that still needs the darkness
is anchored into those sunsets
long ago extinct and what one knee
can get away with
by judging the other --your stride
is inherited though this tree and moonlight
that now longs for what the sun
left over --one leg spreading out
as if it could pick this apple
just by caressing it
and one knee stuck in the ice
--you limp the way each star senses
how the others survive the cold
--you tamper with darkness! step by step
more dirt pulled loose, kissed, covered
behind your brightening lips and heels.
Simon Perchik
*
Inside this sling the kitchen table
half hooves, half wings and mountainside
though the doctor says it’s how stone
helps my
rest and flowers
slipping off the rocky edges
--it’s not the time! you don’t yodel
not in the same room, not with the window
open as if words mean nothing now
and still some mountain wail
grabbing those god-awful branches
the way this tablecloth is carried up
and around just one arm the neighbors
even here think you’re crazy, your throat
joyous for no reason at all.
Simon Perchik
*
At night and this beach bathed
as if it had two mothers, half sand
half stench and loving you
till your still soft heart
and the sun survives
by hiding, seeps from the surface
and the devouring light --in the dark
you will learn to splash
sooner than the others
get the jump, each shoulder
rinsed, taught to cool
and this great ocean from inside.
Simon Perchik
Hands Collected, a complete reprinting of all 16 out-of-print books by Simon Perchik is now available from Pavement Saw Press, Box 6291, Columbus, OH 43206 or on the web: pavementsaw.org.$30.00.
