The August Chosen Poet is Robert Beveridge

Please feel free to email Robert at: xterminal@gmail.com

APOCALYPSE

The Inevitable Zombie Apocalypse begins,
of course, in Muncie, Indiana. Rumor has it
a drunk coroner got bit during a botched
autopsy. From there, it was Katy bar the door,
the entire swanky part of town was gone
overnight, pectorals and larynxes gone down
like escargot and dry bay scallops. Sometimes
even in the same meal. Dead eyes retain
purpose, turn as one towards the glow
of Chicago on the horizon. Whether
the revenants or the National Guard
will arrive first is anyone’s guess.

“If only you could see yourself,” Grandma
says, the same look on her face as when
she bites into a uni roll gone a bit over.
“How do you leave the house that way?”
You turn to consult the mirror, remember
your ability to see yourself disappeared
five days ago, right around the time
of the full moon—which you blamed
wholesale for the sudden return of Members
Only to popularity. You touch tour hair,
glance down at the same yellow cardigan
and jeans that’s been your uniform
throughout high school, remain unsure.

ALL THE LORDS OF CONQUEST

What great beast,
tentacles and shattered wings
askance, sleeps
beneath the Marianas Trench?

Blind idiot gases reach
and stir, form runes
and bake mochi with red beans.
Call.

Cloudy eyes stir.

Cats eat their dead
owners; horses’ legs break
and men abandon
thievery and greed for worldwide
peace and love.

Skin is flayed, traded
for camel meat. Three hunters die
again, and the water
that crushes the City of Dreams
boils. The Elder Sign
shivers, but does not crack.

Cloudy eyes stir.

Last wisps of fog
burn from the field at Megiddo.
The millions of bodies did not die,
nor even appear.

SLEEP HAS HIS HOUSE

My dreams
Don’t like me
any more

I’ve been mugged
in the back alleys of nowhere
one too many times

felt the razor
of black leather
bite me
time and again

hold my ears
as dentists’ drills
pierced my heart

but still
somehow
I wake up every morning
and keep going

and at the end
of each day

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, Ohio. Recent and/or upcoming appearances are in Dime Show Review, Communicators League, and Mad Swirl, among others.