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GUSH

by

François Benoit



          Under fractured strata
          of reason and commonsense
          phreatic words lie buried

The inner self speaks a language
that won¹t translate nicely
into the socialized vernacular
          of the outer man.

Like geysers
images well up at intervals
recurrent and unpredictable

They are not outbursts
          of vapid truths
          those words

They carry weight

They gush from deep recesses
          saturate with the slime
          of our eroded lives

Draining bits of brittle ideologies
          and shreds of dainty sentiment

They swamp the brain and
          receding
          leave uncertain pools
          of opaque nostalgia




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


        WHOLE-CLOTH BIO
  To appease the plain vanilla voyeur
   My father was in the military
         and lived a life of attitude
   My mother was in the dietary
         and never had much latitude
   Naturally I went for the literary
         of which I've had a plenitude




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