Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA 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.
but it’s uncertain what made it warmer
the light of dawn remains cool,
volcanoes are long dormant,
the oceans are slushed with ice.
A fragrance of brittle
passes between parted lips
drawn up from the deepest seas.
New eternities begin
in dreams of ferocious sincerity
as our last images become intaglios
lashed upon the empty sky—
a combustion of spirit,
the luminescence of ecstasy,
flesh disappearing into flesh.
Black Nuclei (Issue I)
This is another thing you’ve thrown down upon me;
a multitude of black nuclei stolen from a blur in time.
This has taken you farther from me than you thought it would.
This is the sort of maneuver you’ve plucked from the trees.
This is the creeping animal that you’ve stalked
into the highest hills of a frozen desert throwing rocks at it
as it seeks an unlikely form of shelter.
You left behind your better self—
clambering toward dawn and a skyline you’ll never forget.
A unique blaze hurtles outside the overgrown green flesh
of earth, an orbit shedding flame.
Yet these are your articles of faith held close upon your hair.
They repulse, they absorb. I have no reason to think that sutures
will heal anything at all.
On Harrow Gate Drive
We’re convinced we have everything—
complementary patterns of color entwined with sleep,
the possibility to rise above earth,
captivations to entertain in your own private prisons,
hazards to stumble upon during your midnight walks,
discs and reservoirs laid out somewhere in time
and fearsome mannequins taken from mechanical forests.
An eyeball at the edge of possibility,
harbingers of stolen light,
caskets for dying plants,
even some useful objects to hold—
simple things offering the false promise
of a second life.