Slippery
Lines
Slipped lines
Early morning
thoughts that glide around
Of poems
to be writ most clearly
Dancing
images mounted on walls of muse
Surrounded
by everlasting gloss and memories
Golden
Days and Wet Days surge in my head
That line
that summed the whole
A pivotal
piece of muse that opens up a song, a poem
Like a
freshly dredged Bluff oyster
To be tasted
and enjoyed raw or battered
To be written
sung and enjoyed
Oh where
did you go
You slippery
line
(C) Copyright 1999
EWAN ELLIOTT
All Rights Reserved
