By  Richard King Perkins II
 Gasp, my stranger. Contract like burning paper.
You’re distant; as loud as footsteps on anthracite
echoing away from where you once belonged.Hold on to my hand. Just don’t break my fingers.
Below the floor, a malignance; or a potential body
conjured in an instance without boundaries.From our drippings; the bruise, the wings.
Our creation, Emberfoot, scurries the tableau
in clearest air, fully celebrated in burning waves.
authorRichard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, 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 including The Louisiana Review, Plainsongs, Texas Review, Hawai’i Review, Roanoke Review, Sugar House Review and The William and Mary Review. His poem “Grease Poet” was a prize winner of the Woodrow Hall award for enduring excellence. His poem “Nemesis” recently won the Songs Of Eretz Editor’s Choice award.


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