Perlberg, Mark 2002
Former President of the Poetry Center of Chicago
I keep stamps in odd colors: moss, mauve,
diamond gray. They looked obsolete
the day they were minted.
Feathers that dropped from the sky,
my airedale’s bark, a child’s cry.
– Mark Perlberg, “The Box of Clouds”
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Listen to Mark Perlberg’s 2002 reading for the Poetry Center of Chicago:
What does dying mean?
Is it living like a stone?
Being everywhere at once,
like river mist or rain?
– Mark Perlberg, “When At Night”
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Something happened to the cables
that run under miles of water to our island,
so we play cribbage in the light of six candles
and a hurricane lamp.
– Mark Perlberg, “Orchids and Eagles”