Written on Water
A rout of slugs rode their gush,
Raw glister eroding to zero. Re-
Oozing, all eros, they insisted
To write it, this zoom-out to smudge,
A glum gumshoe on a path mugging
For the muse’s leavings and wake.
Their bodies, loose jelly, nothing
Defined, unspool pooling gloop
From a self without actually being
More than some residue’s sum:
No shell, no gristle, no spine—
Just one left foot left defeated
In the blurring dribble that I’m
Stuck cleaning up. Epiphenomena
Floored by their own ribald juice.
My roommate remarked he’d lay
Siege with circles of salt, whole
Seas, but refuses to willfully
Hurt them. No, time wouldn’t give
Them any choice but to come to
Some edge, so catching them dead
In their tracks. They’ll soon shrivel
Away, wayward lives mostly water,
Rivers unraveled, nodding each stalk.
| William Cordeiro |
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