Three years ago, flirty, she sent

me her picture. I don't

take compliments well, shed



         Now, closer, I've come

to one of her readings, wonder

if she still remembers me.

Were both older, looks and all

but light red raindrops

still flow down her shoulders,

kiss her breasts,

cheeks still quick

to fold up in a smile,

eyes bright as shards

of lucid dreams

still take me back to her

flirtatious letters.




Coitus Interruptus


After the first thrust

she came to like

the needle's penetration

and let herself

be subjected

to her boyfriend's

soporific thrusts

sporadic but always

on the horizon.


It was inevitable:

he cut and cooked

too coarse, vein


decayed and angry.


She spread her arms

and asked

for soporific death.


At the wake

he hid a full needle

under the puffy sleeve

of her blouse.






The slightest motion

and we burrow further

into the sand

stare up

at the searchlight-coated stars

from this Atlantic City beach


stray grains of sand bleached

and pounded white

have found their way

to the flesh of your chest and throat

and the breeze

leaves a sodium tang

on your lips


so our kisses leave me dry

thirsty for more


the stars waver

under searchlights'

brilliant blaze, bleached

and pounded white

scattered across the velvet

of our cloak


you place your head

on my chest

and I smell sea-salt

in your hair




Iced Blood


Love stands

in my heart's

greatest chamber

and sings like

Billie Holiday,

fills the chasm

of my body

with reverberations


Pain on the other

hand slithers

through the veins

worms its way

into organs and trust

with a few choice

words on love

the bares its teeth

and multiplies






you sit at the kitchen

table, sip a glass of wine (your third), write

poems for dead saints

and archangels

you can't believe in


look at the world

under the rug

where humanity

sweeps dust


delve into asylums, cults


draw your inspiration

from visions of hell

and heaven

gods and Napoleons

by the thousand


then maybe you'll see

what lies beyond this world





for Kate Fabian


You kissed me last night

pressed your body close.

Small, eager, your hands

sought mine

held them tight

as if I might slip

from your grasp

drop away like the sun.


Now, you stretch against me,

lazy, try to avoid

the rays of renewed sunlight

that shine on your sheet-clad body,

wish as I do

for a few minutes of contact

in the dark.






Curled up shivering

these blankets useless

to clear chill

from the marrow


my stomach shifts

with ignorance


you could be anywhere

anywhere except

on the other end

of my phone line


Robert Beveridge


Bio:  Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Neologism, In Between Hangovers, and Clementine Unbound, among others.