Joshua Beckman Poems

The dead girl by the beautiful Bartlett.
I'm sad. I make horrible sentences.
A woman alone in the park waves. The water.
...

Dark mornings shown thy mask
made well thy visage and voice
rolling over and hearing some perfect
sweetness that one broad soul poured forth
...

Dear Angry Mob,

Oak Wood Trail is closed to you. We
feel it unnecessary to defend our position,
for we have always thought of ourselves
...

It was as if her love had become
a big eye or some historical logic or
a religious particle lodged in the brain.
In the most costly services of a great society
...

Lying in bed I think about you,
your ugly empty airless apartment
and your eyes. It's noon, and tired
I look into the rest of the awake day
...

Ocean which I pushed up
with my fingers so I could touch
the orange sand below
...

I let my body down slow which is
what they say to do, like a whale
with its breathing and floating
in the ocean.
...

I'm not with my blue toes or my doggies
nor am I under any arched roof rotting blossoms
in my drain, sunlight pouncing upon me,
nor am I fixed like a tree, nor am I unfixed
...

In Colorado, In Oregon, upon
each beloved fork, a birthday is celebrated.
I miss each and every one of my friends.
I believe in getting something for nothing.
...

The going. The letters. The staying.
The life of the little boy. The staying
and the life of the little boy. The
letter. The mushrooms. Dear Mom,
...