Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Jeffrey Perkins’

Farm Hands

Mornings I’d crawl down to listen to the boys feed the calves. John let them suck his fingers. He didn’t know they wanted milk. Josh ran. His mom called him rabbit. His wall jammed with ribbons. The boys slept in bunk beds. I heard them whisper about the west. Matthew dreamt of the other coast. He learned everything about surfing. I can see them older now, wading into the Pacific […]

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Everything that Rises

At the end of the day, Z and I talk about sand: how it took the house in Eternal Sunshine. How the two boys eye each other in Bad Education. Our crush on Gael Garcia Bernal. Z suggests, “The Life You Save May Be Your Own.” I ask about “Everything That Rises Must Converge.” A tiny car parks outside. Death Trap, my dad would have said. Z’s friends ask about […]

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When I Won’t Know You

In Berkeley, there are signs for a psychic fair. You want to stop and while I’ve sworn them off, I secretly fear we might end then, when someone says we’re through. But you can’t find a parking spot so while you circle the block I go in to have my aura cleaned. Students murmur I’m red or blue light, circling their hands around my head. When you finally arrive, we […]

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