Snail - A Conceit (Perhaps Too Precious) For Those Who Write Poetry Poem by Warren Falcon

Pace,

if pace one

can, your

paces, your

spaces,


hasten slowly

as the snail

traces her

path if path

she is (she

leaves a

palimpsest) ,

or has

time

enough,

and slime

enough,

tons of it,

to sense

or not

where she

is going

going-not,

(no apparent

plot to)

got to get to

with

or without

(sluggishly)

a shell

or,

fancier,

c a r a p a c e

or,

better,

above-whirled

parasol apace


visualize -

she is

a question

mark,

or wears one

if she

wears

where

she is

without

doubt

or question,


and does

not question

her

trail though

questions

gradually

do naturally


arrive -


how

does she,

snail,

breathe?


if shelled, is

she sleeved

or -un to be

less encum-

bered when

being is

weight enough?


She appears to

wait.

But doesn't.

Does not think

'hesitation'

though she

(appears to)

be

comprised

greatly

of

pauses.




I am

much

still

with

the

snail

her

imagist

staggers

her eye-netted

(some

infer nettled)

catches

from her

roam

house

(a house is a shell)

beside

a river (a river is a

trail)


so she, snail,

does slowly en-

snare, paces

an eye, dip in

dip out, she is

slipsilver', not

'quick-',

an

intended

limp at best,

ignites she

her night trail,

her moon lace

faint, tail-ish

iteration

which treds,

praised be,

catches eye

stars im-pagin-

ation, forms

countless

wonder or it,


the dimmed

trimmed sail

behind is

adaggieto-ed

lightning or,

having no fingers,

or perhaps her

appearing to be

a finger, indexed

or not, suggests,

lends intents, hints

to be lightning

letharge'd in

appearance only


but now each,

every, all these

enjambed visages

do muddle tho

she is no puzzle

(or puddle for that

matter) , rather,


she is,

distinct,

parted,

clear,

separate-sure,

tho whorled

as frozen mo-

tion but

for her un-

accountable

inherent

translucence