half wood in back some horse
dripping with saliva
wishes it was born dead
--the knob won’t turn
though the sun’s nearby
exhausted, wobbles
the way even light
withers, reaches an end
limps till the room
fits between your jaws
--they never let go
still drink from a bowl
that doesn’t move anymore
bends open for dirt
as if you had no thirst
no arms left or side to side.
[+]
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have
appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, The
New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is
Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013).
For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled
“Magic, Illusion and Other Realities”
please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
