Oyster Boy Review 04  
  Spring 1996
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» Levee 67



Jeffery Beam

I'll not forget that
afternoon in the room
when after we
drank the rime, your
brown buttocks set
the new tune.
How reckless it seems
now, but what bites
decorated your lips
then, and what
hard symphonies
we played out on
that lyre-shaped
rug-covered bed.