SurVision Magazine / Richard King Perkins II

Aqueous Meadow

Night pours from the juices
of an aqueous meadow

maple and honey locust,
the sap of your body's condensation.

Steeped in the primal caustic,
vague clues in the underbrush

my head is in your lap again
and you tell me why friendship

is so difficult a link
for the strangest animals.

The oil on your fingertips
opens pathways to greater skies;

the perfume of living images
and metaphoric hearing.

Your subtle presence
plays host to my mortality

a reclamation of moon calf
is your shameless servitude;

to know my most simple movements
with sumptuous renown,

entrancing me by making our wild
a better dawn

than nature's self-arising.

Tandems

The world runs on obvious things
and incidental felicities;

the sterility of an exploitative culture,
the men you've left behind.

Your depth implies
gulls breeding in half light
on the margins of Antarctica,

the other dimension so many have quested for.

There will only be a smattering
of dialogue in this act—
the rest is all barren streets and drama.

Your claims are many;
triangle dreams

and a hypnagogic kiss

incinerating syllables both charnel and carnal
as they swab
and floss their way forth into air,

an eruption of locusts and frogs,
the desperation of disjunct tandems

witnessed

but unrecognized.

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.

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue One RICHARD KING PERKINS II Aqueous Meadow Night pours from the juices of an aqueous meadow maple and honey locust, the sap of your body's condensation. Steeped in the primal caustic, vague clues in the underbrush my head is in your lap again and you tell me why friendship is so difficult a link for the strangest animals. The oil on your fingertips opens pathways to greater skies; the perfume of living images and metaphoric hearing. Your subtle presence plays host to my mortality a reclamation of moon calf is your shameless servitude; to know my most simple movements with sumptuous renown, entrancing me by making our wild a better dawn than nature's self-arising. Tandems The world runs on obvious things and incidental felicities; the sterility of an exploitative culture, the men you've left behind. Your depth implies gulls breeding in half light on the margins of Antarctica, the other dimension so many have quested for. There will only be a smattering of dialogue in this act— the rest is all barren streets and drama. Your claims are many; triangle dreams and a hypnagogic kiss incinerating syllables both charnel and carnal as they swab and floss their way forth into air, an eruption of locusts and frogs, the desperation of disjunct tandems witnessed but unrecognized. 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.
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