2/20/2016 0 Comments Two poems by Robert BeveridgeThe Big Bad By Robert Beveridge You sent me saucy pictures from the freezer aisle at Target only to have them come through black as the mane of your favorite literary stallion. Later, when you led him to water, he approved enough to send me a photo, so crisp the condensation chilled my fingers. I wanted to touch you to warm them, held my phone tighter instead, took in the chill, the moisture, wrapped it around me for safekeeping until I can return it to you, lip to lip, nervous hand to nipple, breath as tremulous as liquor to stronger, saltier wind. The Plural of Pancreas nubbed, soft half-deflated footballs parade down Seventh Ave. in possession of the corpse of Vassily Totentanz the nihilist. Cabbie veers around the procession. “Only in New York,” he says to his passenger, the actress Chasity Inanout. “Inflate the damn things!” About the author: Robert Beveridge has been living in and around Northeast Ohio for over two decades, and writing poetry for a good deal longer than that. Work can recently be found in Third Wednesday, Guide to Kulchur, and the anthology Stories from the Polycule (Thorntree Press, 2015). He can also be found making people very uncomfortable with loud noises atxterminal.bandcamp.com.
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