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SNAILS FOR THE MAD LANDLADY
 
she did have part of it
the gift curse
poetry does turn existence
routine slime
into iridescent trails
often traveled in twilight
discovered at dawn
useless
but that they lead
around the dark garden
across dew beaded abacus webs

most gifts are burdens
cursed by being easy to abuse
all the paper thin shells
crush by mere holding
suspect
taking mind in hand
trying slippery alchemy
on stuff of dreams

you find them that way
drowned in labels
all their mute mysteries
pebbles that float

- Robert Erman

Copyright 08/92 Robert N. Erman
 

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