Lawrence Beck Poems
The cloud has come again, the prairie fire
Smoke, and all is wrapped in darkness.
That is what I see. The pills, it seems,
No longer work. The faint pinpricks
Of light, recalled, unfelt, are far off in
The sky: that precious woman and
Her love, the gently swaying summer
Trees, the voices of the ones who want
Me here as I consider leaving. What
Could be is suffocated, what was,
Ashes from the flames. I'm teary-eyed
And blinded, wanting nothing more
Than to lay down. The prairie fire's
Smoke has come again.
A Dash Of Bitters
Of all the women, who I know,
None mentions Michelangelo,
Or global warming, even elves.
These women talk about themselves,
And they, it seems, believe that I
Am rapt, though audibly I sigh,
As they go on about their pains,
Their disappointments. There remains
No time to learn how I have been.