Escargot

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
How to make life

Submitted: August 03, 2010

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Submitted: August 03, 2010

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I have never ate a snail and felt slower
 
Never really ate a snare and felt trapped
never bought into its parade either—never marched to it—never its dawning steel tight rope snap
no balancing acts
 
I’m more morning gong like—waking me true
Never becoming a stuffed bird pumped cottoned in its wings
flunk in taxidermy of their snare
 
Great snail swallowed a lantern and sails across the glass globe of our atmosphere
Never hits the snare
Never marches or gets caught
 
I eat escargot
Not raw
I corrupt the flesh—make it better—more suitable flesh like religion
And I eat that snail real fast so it goes down easy
 
There is escargot in the sky
 
We are all really hungry
We get caught trying to catch it—to become that great snail higher than us—orbiting the glass bowl
We were told to march in order to find so our feet syncopate the snare—the gulches the—quick sand—the chinks and crannies and canyons and ditches and gutters and holes catch us and keep us down—they take me as a snare—
 
I just want escargot—even though I can’t stand it raw
I need it made like religion
 
Es (carGO)t
It’s something we had
And will and won’t
Want
 
But they won’t make me—no
I’m not suitable for taxidermy
I’m not escargot,
Yet it feels as though I am
 
 
 
 
 
 


© Copyright 2018 Daniel Talamantes. All rights reserved.

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