John M. Bennett

Grime Edge

edge of door cloud your foot mute or a
,change of rash hedged your crowded moot
floor a mange of ash knockers in the sleep
wedged against some loud chute nor cage
of gashed clocks in the sweep of “time”
chewing ,betcha went one sodden loot or
rage splashed socks inside the creeping
grime




Ant Inch

inch of pool ,mat sock ,type of sweaty
,blare the brim core itch or cool that
rock hype and meaty glare ,the thin lore
wrestled to the wall which your dual hat
pocked type ,hand leafy stare the grin
snore nested in your fall ham gristle ditch
nor screwed gnat locked gripe ,panned
sheety hair and bins of gore resting in
some crawler bistro .stitch ,sore ,blew an ant