Rem aster
my mus cle f lag my tu
be lak e my dri fting my
dri pping cl ucker sh adow
SAID UH ba ste me F ORK
sw irling in my sh orts the
)t omb was fu lla gr ease(
c aller st one the la rynx
fee ler ,la bored t ome an
)snee ze( sm aller poo l fr
eezing in the SO up my fee
t rac rac ating tow ard eh
s p i l l
C lod Dr ink
g nat h alf g
unk k nuck le sh roud
gl gl ancer st epp
ed a way an gl inked
.tub er m utter “gr istle
gris tle” s ped be fore
the doo r the booOm
g uzzle )j ittery cl ouds(
an r afting th rough the
c lot d ock )so ap an
“¡CR EAM!”
It’s The
the shirt fruit the cash lurk the
stand foam the knife whip the wall
cream the loot suit the stung gate
the wish leg the map wind the
gack stool the wrung lap the scrawl
limb the meat watch the runt pail
the node lamb the wash grunt the
tall thunk the think shit the bell
thing the rat book the glob song
Napping the Net
net cluster nod the soap let
dunger fly )half shame( soot
worn lapse meal )thawn shadow(
I felt my foot drink call
the sink my busted dog hope
should half link the hole fire
cheese )nor lumber( fake dawn
the time the lice crust raving
drank the mirror )boats( my
gut tank gristle loot gun
shirter’s luck mail the nodding
foam peel neck runny one
whistle throne my slumber
gasoline )bomb( sandwich in
the lake my dusted bet ducks
the crap stall meal swimming
fan got business shore cream
plodding home hash lumination
broke glue bowed test my
clap issue never asleep naps
The Face Hustle
hustled hill I gag and brink god
mumbled ,spoon room test loot
shadow spume the shoat cagado
neatly said grime dunk storm the
file shot grab it knock cloud
fine noose my rest dog luggage
blam vlam wrestle or skull foto
time wind shirt the rained eyes
knacky sorta fungus mine the
mind lint epsom coughs real
tossed a head brick stain my
elbow fissure table sot tooth
rolling in the seeds seeds knew
moths hull vacuum the pestle
throat flagger dong knot yes
torque fool flossed my bread
muscled pill line tacks or
spaghetti peed corn and diced
six holes one rotting leaf mice
kiss your shorts my stringy face
texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to Volodymyr Bilyk at ex.ex.lit@gmail.com for consideration...
Thursday, April 28, 2011
poems || John M. Bennett
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