Friday, February 3, 2012

3 poems || John M. Bennett


the ashen dog returns the
fluid ≈ flavor of your
fount of swallowed phrases
neck ╦ ,a bellows pillowed
,the sleet barks arf off /
.half behind ,and throwing
grins the tomb █ ,half’s a
head turned which way’s
that ?the clot potato .
rustigates ,my hull blang
thing my ,buried tubes ,lung
damper opened to the seventh
.itchy ,clattered ,custom
crumbly ,rivers≈ spouting from
my throat like heads ,mir
rored their eyǝs sǝye
think started ends the end’s
startled gnats** * * flushing≈
down the street


Muy inestimado ,desplómate ,la
pared partida ,en las sentidos
cinco ,enumeronte me he su
mado los seis y el único el
séptimo ,ensimismado ,me
espera desperezándose ,un
,de lodo ,aire que ¿cómo tan
fácil? respira ,y no le im
porta .el cafetero frío
y mi taza ,de arcilla que ,un
mes ha ,ardía ,vacía ,y leo de
mi mano el libro ,misal de masas
,masa fonética de la luz que men
guante sube y yo ,ab sorto ,sorbo
la que tú reescribirás ,mi penúl
tima página in tlapalli in tlilli


broke the crawlspace intowelled
the ,paused and gritty ,chewed
wall beneath the ,where’s temp
oral crowd was herd ,floor
,not limit ,of gnat’s restriction
,universe’s ,hell and birth
in the rotting wood .the
tiny ,stuffed with mud ,cars
and marbles ,of their inner
glow just’s memory’s light
,furtive and ,like river’s
dawn ,misty ,like what
from the buttocks’ shot
,awakened from beans .toward
the central drain I dragged
,my self with a wrench and
torch ,and on, where’s twitching
my tongue I thought ,on a shelf


No comments:

Post a Comment