A poem by Robert Beveridge

You’re on the phone again. I keep
telling you there’s no one
of that name here.

But the phone rings
at 3:30AM
and I know it’s you.

You have never
given me your name
but I know your voice

its mold-smeared sapphire liquid
nipples breathe ask for the person
who doesn’t live here again

Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry in Akron, OH. He  celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of his first publication in November 2018, and has since published over a thousand poems. Recent/upcoming appearances in Cough Syrup, Penumbra, and Lowestoft Chronicle, among others.

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