Night Song


Photo by Usuf Islam


The mist
outside the door
is a whispering beast
grey, bodiless,
beckoning me
into its guts
for purposes I
can only guess

as I walk into the mist
the other inhabitants
of the house
watch my back
as if swallowed
by the earth itself


Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Guide to Kulchur, and Third Wednesday, among others.


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