A slight taste of bitter
almond beneath the ever-
present pomegranate. You chewed
a seed, eyes far
away, rosined your bow.
Once again it was time
to play for the assembled,
the few who understood
and the masses, whom your every word passed
over like sea waves,
that shatter, endless,
over and again on the shore.
Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances include The Literary Yard, Big Windows, and Locust, among others.