Dr. John M. Bennett

the ‘maters

orange ,under the drooping

,leaves ,dirtsprung hands

,or gold ,spheres ,es

caped my eyes ,to

fall in mud ,or the

cornea’s cloudy ,leaves

me standing ,and in my

churning sleep

an icy shoe returns

‘    ’    ’   ‘  ‘   ’   ‘

where the compost’s

crowned with flies

.my uttered wallet’s

nest my sandy keys

my knife crusted

with sticky see

ds  .))under the water’s

mile ,I slept

...las semillas que subían...

- Carlos Pellicer

exlumation

b oil nos tril ,g ,nat

es dri ppy ,off the

f loor ,s hoe f ills ,a

m ask o f og the

han ky rai sed ,a f

lag un foiled ,to

ward the st reaming

c aves ,of rain the

mater ,so’s yr fin

g ered sn akes yr g

rippless toes and linty

shirt ,damp ,ered

while the exhalation’s

in ,bur bling at the mou

th ,rem akes the soaking

air ,or light

Toda la mierda literaria ha

ido quedando atrás.

- Roberto Bolaño

slack