Slow

slug 1

Who cares what
the slow
guy thinks?
I watched a slug
gliding over a rock
on its single
foot: water
flowing uphill,
Aladdin’s carpet.
I like how,
during a yawn,
my head fills
with the roar of
its own surf.
So much better than
those hiccups
called anger, pride,
shame,
or the fever
with which
my poor sam
pee-body — as
the sparrows say —
tries to rid itself
of that virus
love.

slug 2

11 Replies to “Slow”

  1. This really works.

    Some deep listening there, and sharply edited too.

    I’m not crazy about the list-making (“anger, pride, shame”) but I’m reaching a bit here, because I really like the poem as a whole, and even that bit sort of works.

    I love the single foot, and Alladin, and the yawn, and the hiccups. You pack a lot into a little poem.

  2. Hey, robin andrea stole my comment! (Though to be technical the poem spoke of the head’s own surf.)

    I also liked the slug’s single foot.

    The whole thing — a great contrast.

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