Fall Poetry Contest - Top Ten Finalist
Richard King Perkins II
It’s not a dream
but a slightly gone world
covered in frozen mist.
The sounds of imprecision
astonish the sky’s wintry chamber
where I wait dissolving
beneath a bowl of tambourine bells.
This must be the way it wasn’t meant to be
or it wouldn’t be so—
this vacancy of snow where your car once slept.
I look for you in the old meeting place
but it pouts at me emptily.
Now you’re stranded on a bridge in St. Louis
with no money and no credit cards
and your passenger side window broken out.
I’m in the evergreen woods laced white
where someone once wrote a song about you;
how your eyes extinguished sensibility,
how your eyes painted light into every corner of darkness.