Fevre Dream

4:30 AM twist
breath still labored
two pills crushed
orange juice
back to bed
and the factory dream

the hand crushed
in the machinery
does not spurt
blood as shock
sets in. No pain.
Curious.

Fall over rail
to steel walkway
beneath. Back snap
the sound of twigs
in the forest, but louder.

Pull tighter to preserve
warmth and try to stay
awake. No more
dreams tonight.

By Robert Beveridge

Biography:

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in CultureCult, Chiron Review, and Guide to Kulchur, among others.