Untitled Poem

All through the day
and all through the night
the rain knocked on the windows,
pressed its puckered knuckles to the glass
again and again.

I mooned from room to room,
my swollen belly
full of woe and desire,
dragged my long train
of broken words,
poems lost -
oh how it tangled
around the furniture,
slicked the floorboards
with shimmering salt.

Mother slug.

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I wrote this within the last year.