bio

photo by kevin berger

Beth Cheng recently woke one morning and started penning poetry after a six-year hiatus (there must have been a clog up in there). Born in D.C. and having escaped Michigan last year, she now makes her home in L.A. with her S.O., John, enjoying their 15-year stock of cakes and ale.

Bad Poetry

To Adam Bresson

With slip-on shoes, hairy legs, tattoo,
I listen as your friend with the name
Reads over loud, delivers his own punk
Assignations.

Eats crow, fucking good crow, and then,
Tangled in his consciousness, won’t sit down.

The gospel spoken (or spat out),
The hat goes round –
I, paper thin, arid, extra dry,
Peel off the page, cut myself
Away from your friend what’s his name.

copyright 2006 Beth Cheng

Machismo

Brandon Lee is dead and
Idiots abound energized
By temporary transport and
Titillation.

Occupying space and class;
No consequence, all confidence
Proliferating –
Deus ex machina of “men.”

copyright 2006 Beth Cheng

We Diminish

Living for the weekend makes for a dead week.
   -- Anonymous

I lurch and peel and preen to stay afloat,
Asleep on my feet, my eyes water,
My bright stripes bleed and blur.
The train sways beneath me – a lullaby, a dirge;
Flick, flick, flicker – I see a staccato of lights
Through the skin of my lids.
My eyes snap open – I catch my reflection
In the next car flying, following, veering, soaring.
Sacrifice more (you say), but I’ve already
Optioned my soul Eat Me,
Drink Me – I do not grow, cannot,
I only deflate, shrivel, shrink, sublimate …

copyright 2006 Beth Cheng