Back to Issue Twelve.




He jumps out of a moving car
trying hard to stay alive.

The Silhouette bar behind us.
A hooded moon on watch.

They’d really love us, he says,
pulling on my cigarette hard.

Just be all about us. Like he is.
Wants to take us himself.

We take his word instead—
get out—head south at dawn.

Past the slow parade of Ohio.
The hills of your Kentucky.

At night, we sleep in a tent
off a long stretch of freeway.

Where we’re going the water
moves up quiet at night. Stirs

in the morning. Look out
at the lake. How fast it shifts

underneath. A giant storage
battery. A beautiful machine.

Jeffrey Perkins received his MFA from Bennington College, and his poems have appeared in MemoriousThe Cortland ReviewThe Massachusetts ReviewThe Southampton ReviewFifth Wednesday Journal, and Melancholy Hyperbole, among others. He lives in New York City and can be found online at

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