Saturday, July 4, 2015

John M. Bennett: Six Poems

La cara en el Lago Petén Itzá

I struck the ph one
the lake's lung a
grass forgets air th
inks thru tiny holes yr
busted foot cloaca
del cielo mes doigts
iluminés comme sand
thumb can't hold no
thing can it hold tu
lengua agusanada
cómetela it's good
muy rica

don't stop to cough

gnattts in the bush yr
*;*;;***;**;;;*;**;;*** *
forehead con geals o
gels with qquivve
rring plate the c
rumbled nest my
sock in there my f
ork and sky my
my my howler in a c
rumpled can a p
lastic bottle eye
et nous un peu de
gelée blanche André Breton
)))where the rotting shoes
stink in mud

las hormigas de mi abuela

bandwurst ,fog in all
the floors a towel
fall around yr legs
or rabbits was it ? flack
bog behind the noodle
itching clawing
corning falling listing
each an every ant
scurries cross yr foot

nodules on the roots

spelled from corn fo
am spun the sea ,if
seen the water's name
or n lessness to fill
leafy space space or h
air sprayed from too
thy face toothy e
ar speaks wind
falls down me
shirt with nouns
soaked pouring
out the sleeves I
want my touseled
head I want my
fattened tongue I
wwant my aaftter

ended sleep.....

le sable d'une femme oubliée

names in the shirtless sand
tout paradis de snakes si
mmering in the lamp n'est
pas perdu como caca o
nariz raíz y lago dans le
cristal des ruines donde
voy sin ID sin mano y ¿qué
hago? dans une horloge
phosphorescent a sideways
window under water stone
qui dit minuit qui dit
chevelures chevelures the
chains of clouds mes images
¿soy yo el paraíso? nuit
que décalque les coqs
rustling in your legs
yr sleeves yr flaming chair
c'est ici c'est ici la
fiebre in the wings of grass la
fiebre flushed down the throat
of the book

3 voices: John M. Bennett,
Ivan Argüelles ("anabasis vi"), &
Andre Breton ("Tout paradis n'est pas perdu")

palpita en el viento

the egg before it
fry lurks under sur
face a swivelled mask
gun combs the door am
monia below your lint
el's bookish sea dr
ools around the fr
ame gnats and blood
snails writ in smoke
cliff's ax snakes
jut out beneath the
bed beaks or pock
ets change clangs for
m rushing up the
basement make 'em
scrambled hollow
soap b roke ,thund
ered leaf on the grave
l intes tines sp read
minutes clatter in your
phonetic units forks
thrust up the anus the
window's zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
night song an ancient n
erve pulses in the road

...el corazón es una hoja...
-Pablo Neruda

3 voices: John M. Bennett; Jim Leftwich,
Six Months Aint No Sentence, Book 107, 2015;
Ivan Argüelles, “anabasis xiii”, 2015. 

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