i take my property with me says the snail slow-moving (yes) but packed with sublime thought the house upon its back some kind of grail vulnerable to brute boot - and wisdom bought
by barely making it through life’s dull crawl the pace of it denies technology’s demand that speed be safety (that getting there is all) the snail enjoys being aeon’s ampersand
the snail goes round and round and comes out where it is the king of spirals as life whirls by the turning earth and snail leave nothing spare as step by step the future gives the lie
to rushing dreams and blood’s inflated wants it’s the crawling turn of life that plays the trumps the snail’s the joke - the spiral wraps the taunts (the linear hurls) back round itself – and dumps
vainglory pride ambition overweened into the snail’s path as fodder to be gnashed (transmutable to slime) and once more greened (in time’s course) for hope to be re-stashed
as cosmos and the throbbing crumb of dirt share each other’s suits and blindly will a raw transfiguration to assert what wasn’t is - then this the only skill
as plodding snail and spiralling through space unite in common pattern (daily blent) to tie truth down to gastropodic pace and who goes faster loses what is meant