Wednesday, September 15, 2010

3 texts || John M. Bennett

Burn the Blood

beam of night my guzzled grave
shines a kitchen towel smoked with
blood its codex swirling on the
ceiling where the ants retreat a
fish returns my seeming light my
puzzled ,shave it off and dry the
creeping scalp a brain occludes my
,flooded learning ,seething in my
pants a rope timed with thorns a
sentence turning like a chainsaw

The Lung Dance

the underfather the overtent the active
soap the stringing of the boots the
calling in the afterfart the what’s it’s
is the isn’ts scrawling toward the
funny soup the soup of thorns and shells
the trots and lumbers toward the dri
pping steps a burning shack on top the
canvas wall chars and disappears the
foam behind my brain the cups of
blackened oil the ladder falling
down a well the othermother the
motherfather hopping on my lips


the box of water in my shoe the dripping
head in my shoe the strumming tooth
in my shoe the cash dump in my shoe
the soggy stone in my shoe in my
shoe the clasped ear in my shoe the
mirrored bee in my shoe the space of
wind in my shoe a cave was inside
out in my shoe a lobster and a coin
in my shoe a whistling from the
faucet of my left eye running in my
shoe the red letter from my right

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