Lockjaw by Robert Beveridge The sandman is your enemy, the intruder who carves away your awareness of the wolves who live in space and skin. Coffee and micronaps can only take you so far, however, and your lids hang heavy. Close your eyes: the vampires await. Mango on the tongue, chocolate, pale- eyed children in line at the grill. The hamburgers always go faster; this time you swapped out elk, ostrich, rump roast for the usual ground chuck. No one has yet commented. Hot dog consumption is no more brisk. You break out the long pig. Jerk awake, the tremble in your shoulders uncontrollable. You never remember but it must, must be horrific. Renewed, you prepare to face the battle once again.
Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Cake, Grub Street, and The Literary Hatchet, among others.