Poetry Is a Dirty Business by Robert Beveridge

There are rats in the walls.
Sound pretty big to me.

murky liquid sleepiness
cloys my throat
I put pen to paper
get up at 3:15AM
to write these words

I ain’t never seen rats this big.
Walls must be full of ’em.

murky liquid sleepiness
plunges into my glass
the bartender stares at me
real poets don’t write in bars
(someone’s said that before I think)

So long as the rats don’t chew
on the left fingers

murky liquid sleepiness
flows onto my sheet
pen drops from numb fingers
head drops forward
lost idea drips
from the edge of the table

I don’t mind the rats.
They bring me reality.

[1]  An intentional misquoting of the final line of Stephen King’s “Jerusalem’s Lot”.

Robert Beveridge
Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Borrowed Solace, Dodging the Rain, and Twyckenham Notes, among others.

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