20150217

John M. Bennett
TASTE THE SHADOW AT TIME’S CENTER / 3



neatly piled in the bowl

the log of night my rustles
if combined in shadow aft
er mined the swallowed
curtain oft yr leg
ingrains the sweaty
tube ,or fork ,where
boiling light where
THE cracks off
a s tool










it was hang ing

mist and laundry’s
sky bent ,swallowed
fashion or a wire
hanging off a trunk
of spines labor in
the rain the rain of
ice and sand your
spinal leg invasion
some ants some
dogs









dripped at the gate

lint combing pour
the laughter coffee
skimmed washed lig ht
the creamy sur face
be n eat h raw br
eath the blooded tines
I came fornido ,listo
para el gran viento na
dal por las ahguas
turbias de lo nhunca
visto ah b lack h air
st rea ms






 
 
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