volume 14 number 2
by Richard King Perkins II
It’s too late to gather your clothes about you;
the morning light has already found you naked
just before his eyes of acid rain—
working the last half day in reverse without the sun’s spirant assistance.
An intimate world collapsing
swans in a cesspool blood of brine hands barricading your clouded face
if there was a chance out it wasn’t beneath the lost demure of these sheets—
flailing gestures only bind you tighter to a bed that was never yours.