Thursday, January 10, 2013

John M. Bennett

Wet Mirror

fogo fome fonte fisted
bowl water ,walls ,dri
pping ,yr jaw jut aim ,th
e whizzzing sleeevesss
)layered on the gate my
,watch swirling ,I was
,chewing a splinter spoon
a ,rungs burning on my
chäiïr  )smoky lens be
fore my mouth’s  )wet
green stone  )the cave’s
fog spewed....  )sw
itch yr neck off  )dr
ink ,nothing’s left(((((((((        l

...boquitas pintadas.
- Cuco Sánchez


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