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

house

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.