We Must Bleed
by Robert Beveridge
It’s the word made flesh, but also the flesh
made word. It’s the Joshua trees made
into bonfires and the protectors not allowed
to protect them. It’s the virus in the lexicon,
it’s the cancer in the brain, it’s the hungry,
hungry ghost in the bottle, in the needle,
it’s the hundred fifty thousand people
who die each day and how sometimes
you know too many of them. And how
the innumerable more who don’t know
how to die just turn it around and find
ways to kill. And always remember that
no matter how loud our words and how
public our deeds, what we do is secret.
About the author
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in North of Oxford, The Conglomerate, and Lucky Jefferson, among others.
Other work by Robert Beveridge on Flashes
