Bruce Beaver Poems
|2.||Death's Directives (I)||4/30/2012|
|3.||Death's Directives (Ii)||4/30/2012|
|4.||East Of Atlan||4/30/2012|
|5.||Lauds And Plants (Xiv)||4/30/2012|
|6.||Letters To Live Poets (Vi)||4/30/2012|
|7.||Letters To Live Poets (Xii)||4/30/2012|
|11.||Poem For Adrienne Rich (I)||4/30/2012|
|12.||Poem For Adrienne Rich (Ii)||4/30/2012|
|13.||Poems For Adrienne Rich (Iv)||4/30/2012|
|18.||Poems For Adrienne Rich (Iii)||4/30/2012|
|19.||Letters To Live Poets (I)||4/30/2012|
I was friendly with a woman once.
It was an unusual experience.
There were certain innate boundaries
and the inevitably marked frontiers.
Occasionally one crossed them to meet the other.
It apparently had something to do with sex.
Before I had a chance to explain my shortcomings
she quickly justified her limitations.
A woman senses things at once — so does a man.
Though not wholly man or woman I call myself man
because as they say a womb makes all the difference.
(This living in the sphere of double distortion
is everything the priests promised and more ...
Death's Directives (Ii)
Death beckoned me towards the beach
the same one on which I’d spent days,
weeks, years made up of the hours
of my life as a child —
The hidden in the warm salt hazy dusk
of summer evenings I’d moved mesmerically
from end to end of the darkened sands
feeling their mush of powder between my toes
at the phosphorescent tideline