Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Savant-Garde, Other People’s Flowers, and The Indiana Horror Review, among others.
Arsonist’s Prayer
a stowaway
a house in flames
arms outstretched
to embrace the sins
of the conflagration
I feel you whisper
your divine absolution
you who only could
know my need for fire
for the surprise
the pleasure of the burn
Chapter 7
You knew things weren’t well
when your lawyer slipped you the tongue.
His chihuahua humped your leg.
You looked down and noticed
that the dog’s spot pattern resembled
the Cayman Islands.
I Will Always Associate Almonds with You
the feel of peach
blossoms under my fingers
I caress your skin.
The fragrance of almonds
alerts me, my body reacts
without a thought I kiss you
and I am better for that act
Laconic
I sit here
beside you
and not scream
at the world
how the merest
flick of your pen
over paper
makes me want
to kiss the back
of your neck
while I read
the words
I’m sure are about
someone else
Quail
Last night, a backbird flew
over my grave
The Sandman Screws Up Again
Third time this week.
Tonight I fly
and below me
worms stand at attention
half out of the ground
and wave, ripe, in the wind.
Boy, do they look good.
Tremor
your hand on my cheek
a drop of rain
moves to the edge of the leaf
gathers, falls