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This poem is taken from PN Review 190, Volume 36 Number 2, November - December 2009.

Snailmail Richard Price

Glisten of linedrawn monorails, slopstream timelapse.
Rollercoaster tweenagers - helmets (oversize) slipped back.
The common or garden daredevil is approaching the speed of drool.

and the message is, and the message is

I was a spiral of scroll in a polished slipcase.
I was a lipcase. I was a lip.

I was illumination, initially,
seh seh security, mortality, in Mary’s kitchen garden.
I grazed myself on iceberg letters.
Off-vellum, the children raced me, jabbed me.
Mary’s favourite dabbled then dictated. ‘Now wash your hands.’

I was inked - the bruise from a cygnet ring. I was a cygnet ring.
I was marginalia on incunabula.
A silent type suckered me with sage, stamped my shell to test my blood.

and the message is, and the message is

I was a gastropod gargoyle -

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