Lullaby By Robert Beveridge

The sweet song of the dead

as their hands hold shy flowers

to their nonexistent faces

 

I hand you a long rose

and you take it, scratch

your slender finger on a thorn

you touch it to my lips

and I hear

the sweet song of the dead

in the taste of your blood

 

Robert Beveridge makes noise and writes poetry in Akron, Ohio.



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