shot glass
title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Simon Perchik


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Only slower, that same song, word by word
lowered into your coffin each evening
forwards at first, then backward

for some off-center memory kept smoldering
but why the blanket –face to face
you can hardly tell it's a lullaby, a voice

still warm, tucked into your crib from a tree
that's lifted from the bottom, covered
with doves stuffed with darkness –try

listen the way you once did
though this fairy-like hush finds you
again on your back, jumping and running

and under the soft mud some vague happiness
is coming to an end –try! at least remember
the mouth that opened over the wood and ate.