The slug

Be you feathered or furred
biped or quadruped
akin to me-
limbless and without shell
we share what in us
lives and burns.
shuffle as I or run
you could never outrun
the eternally evanescent now,
what alone is real and all
that you and I have-
the rest, glorious
but transient stuff.
Indifferent to the toad's opinion
and that of the gardener,
I never expected to be hand- fed
nor felt an itching for earthly attention
no matter
by gnawing, I open the earth,
my secretion holds it compact
my shit incubates it.
That I'm breathing, I am happy,
all I need is to be aware,
find refugee in knowing:
my real work is to listen and observe
with my antennae, mind-free-
a life without encumbrance.



Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
Read 9 times
Written on 2026-05-18 at 01:43

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