Three Poems
Eric Beeny

I Died in a Past Life

The memory that races me
to its pen.

Who we were is what we'll write.

The mouth that drags me
around by its kiss.

Who we are is what we say.

The moment that walls me
to its still.

Who we'll be is what we've done.


My head is an empty public rest
room full
of flushing

Relativity Fragment

I can't remember
a time when
I didn't have