Saturday, April 20, 2013

GREG EVASON Working with John M. Bennett


MY COUGHING

in your lake 
of tubes
my jowl flustered
and my gash
spilled across
the floor
of an ingrown chair
with a shore
of butts
and plastic bottles
with a tineless comb
drained inside
the bow
as I coughed
my name
as your bay fist 
dropped
in a stoned one
full of water

splash!

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