Showing posts with label Robert Beveridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Beveridge. Show all posts

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Robert Beveridge writes

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

The Haitians believe
that every rainbow
is the manifestation
in our earth
of heaven
so here, drunk, Judy
Garland on the radio
again, I wonder what
is beyond the river
of heaven manifest
in the night sky
 
 https://youtu.be/4wkSBZb2aoI
 Judy Garland singing "Over the Rainbow" during a broadcast of the "Command Performance" radio program.

Robert Beveridge writes

TUNA

It's trouble
to have the lights off
before ten.
The neighbors wonder.
The bathtub backs up
spits hairballs
into the sink
where there are no cats.

Robert Beveridge writes

SENZA RADICI

This is how it works. You order another Grand Marnier on the dime of that rich old guy who says he runs the studio where Alice Mutton recorded their latest album and when you fade back in it’s foggy, you’re outside, and two violinists stand over you, recite the Nicene Creed until you, too, think you believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church.

It’s when you get up and walk home you realize these guys are with you for good, and there are only so many reels your head can process before you need to sleep the sleep of the spray-tanned sailor. At the risk of being seen a walnut, you ask, in as polite a tone as you can muster, if your new friends might cease and desist, at least till cockcrow, but they just switch to a narcocorrido ballad, vocals in something that may resemble broken Spanish in some alternate universe. When Alice Mutton’s drummer pulls up, even if he’s wasted enough to see nickels on every dime, you dive in, beg him to floor it, destination Braşov, Paris, the final patch of Oblivion-surrounded earth at the end of the world, anywhere but here.



Robert Beveridge writes

IN PRAISE OF THE VICTORIAN NOVEL
for Laura Aquilino

You smiled today, touched
my hand in greeting. I could no longer see
the fires along the river at night
yet again they sprang forth
those talismans
against the flood that threatens
to overcome us.
What great beast is this? One more
sweaty night, no end to this heat
can't sleep so I think of you
wait for something, nothing
you'll know it when you find it.
Hadn't seen you for two days
after I read you my last poems.
Are you in bed with the verse
I opened to you? Do you wonder
if I write you another? I do.

Robert Beveridge writes

HOME IMPROVEMENT

The clink in the basement might be a leaky pipe or a loose piece of glass caught in a sporadic draft. The Derby favorite might look sore in the post parade because he needs to warm up a little more. Your bank might have sent that email because they do indeed care about the safety of your personal information. Perhaps the cult nailed the carcasses to your door for protection. He’s from the government, and he’s here to help you. The green on the cheese is just a rind. It’s got a 0% rating at Rotten Tomatoes because critics don’t understand art. The editor hasn’t responded because the work is still under consideration. Your favorite knife isn’t in the block because it’s still somewhere in the dishwasher.

Robert Beveridge writes

CHUCK 

You toss back
another bourbon
and laugh at me
for my Southern Comfort
and later
I rub your back
hold your hair
away from your face
you try to kiss me
in reply and I hand
you a glass of ginger ale



Robert Beveridge writes

APES OF GOD
 
upside down
the slow march
of beads
from ankles
to wrists
harder to breathe
with each hour
that passes
but you can still
smell the heavy
odor of liver
and caramelized
onion in the air
the occasional
spider bites
your heels,
your back,
and you swear
you hear each
whisper “what
tangled webs
we weave”
before they fall
to the floor
a glaive seems
an odd choice
but when he
comes back
into the room
he selects one
begins to work
once more
on his newest
creation