John M. Bennett

Kcen

bubble the neck thought you re
tained for me ,restrained the
air neck clotty suit .and dou
ble sleeved my neck remem
bered throaty shrinking in
the gasoline my neck spurt
forth stopping the moth neck
flopping on the kitchen floor your
neck dust shining in the evening light


Ksoc

crank the dweller sock the issued
trust grisly thumbprint on my lens
growler tub I slept my foot in where
your view of corn inhaled the cloud
.your teosinte cloud of only air
your foot beside my category whip
ping lens star I could see my flo
oded sock drinking down the floor


Sheet Clot

the clotted stun soup I
slept so muttered even
I could leach .dot dot
it said ,or .instance
slotting ,map of cones
against the bed or be
rm .the fat ice con
traption spoke a bub
ble ,met a mute or
one et’s whut nigh
welters ,gagging thro
ugh the sheet

Sank Much

sank the comb
lump
lot

blew thin
door
heel

off crack
nigh
and

gnat
link
shuddering bring

ist
not
bladder hymn

boil
the
said knew much

Drawing Near

ice nuts ,the rent bucket st
inks my shoe creeps down
there scene through the hole
red ants around the heel I
clocked away and kicked the
.“luck” impaction ,an oarless
throat wrassles with my bo
lus utters some kinda lumbp
,er loose cheeping from the
gut .sent my pool poured the
lumpy goal was sanditation the
scalpel I forgot .forgot the
bloat splashing at my back


Half Tongued

half bubbled half blistered h
alf barking behind the door
half clouded half mumbled ha
lf glistened in the rotting soup
half numbered half thought hal
f sunned and mooned half gut
tered in the briefcase half lou
der on the sofa half hallway
filled with gnats the window
grinds away the ceiling light a
drain sucking at my tongue


Fly

the seeper gun my throat de
tails the seed sun .my fi
ngers sloping toward ,my as
terisk or neckless hissing ru
st knife ,crash claw ,a box
of quivering teeth and rubber b
ands the mice are leaving t
he blisters iridescent the
creeping bottles empty bull
ets gravel fills the coff
ee cups and I raise my
arm to speak a bran
ch flies off


The Lightbulbs Exploded

throttled bag ,woods filled with
shining sticks and bottles flame
walks inside my hat puzzled
logor apta fingering ,dot latex buz
zed and staples ,leaves like
plastic bags the creek streams
with oil and rotting eggs the
basement locked and flooded my
lungless floating book my spitting
at the window my eyes open
in the greying light

 
 
 
 
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