planet earth III
Benin Gardner
Sometimes I let bad things happen
because they can be undone
but when they can’t…

I’m a hopeless frog in your laundromat
my spine is the length of a perfume sample

I’ve begun, inexplicably, to dream
of spare heels in sex cars
and nightclubs next to just-blown volcanos

there’s this shredded chimp vagina
this bludgeoned jackfruit
dragging the Ugandan jurisprudence
it informs me that globalization
is a tenement apartment
like the one I fucked you in

before me flicker tasteful cinematics
of chiming hazel dogs
eating my roommate
she evolved to be
exactly this afraid

I pet the rabbit fur ushanka
feel toward it
a useless maternal emotion
it shivers black light
I pet it
again and again

the salt on the road glitters
like meth at a lavender angle
we’ve babysat this night before
the EBT screen broaching
the subject of faith

snow accrues—
it thinks I’m dead
dead like a mother monkey
from the journal SARKA
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There’s a lot about climate change in the newer seasons of Planet Earth. These Ugandan chimpanzees cross a highway for food that farmers have put fences around. The disequilibrium between nature and civilization means the border between is getting less real — even in NYC, a technofeudal capital. Fighting for space in a grocery store here, for example, it’s obvious I’m in the animal world.

Benin Gardner on "planet earth III"
Greyscale photograph of Mikko Harvey
"Interview With Mikko Harvey"

"These days writing mostly takes two forms for me: fragment-writing and poem-writing. Fragment-writing happens whenever a fragment comes to mind — it could be a phrase, some found text, a few lines, a memory, or even just a single word. I have a big Word document named 'scraps' that’s full of these. Then there is poem-writing, which is less of a language event and more of what I think of as a brain event. It involves slipping into a state of mind where language feels loaded with potential, and lines seem to connect with unusual clarity."

via ONLY POEMS
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Cover image from The Missouri Review, Spring 2024
What Sparks Poetry:
Gilad Jaffe on Language as Form


"Temporary things don’t want to be permanent—at the end of the day, I like to think they fall in love with their own uncertainty. The purple vinyl seats melting into the Iowan wall, the orange traffic cones stationed at an intersection in Rhode Island, blossoming. 'The yellow horses spilling from their sidewalk stalls, sidestepping fruit vendors in an inharmonious derby…'"
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