Poet of the Month: Simon Perchik
“The subconscious is a gold mine, all you need is a pen in your hand.”
Simon Perchik, The Missing Slate’s Poet of the Month, talks to Julie Haasova.
Simon Perchik
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“It was a needless rinse, this bowl/ half wood, half smelling from wood/ that’s been taken away, trembling”
Poem of the Week (17 May), by Simon Perchik
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“while your arms fill with arms / that are not yours, are covered // with shallow river water / flowing past you as moonlight…” Weekend poem, by Simon Perchik.
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“No longer noon but a cramp/ for which there is no potion/ only her lips falling from the sky…” Weekend Poem, by Simon Perchik.
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by Simon Perchik
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