Today I feel like a snail
who took forty years
to cross a road to find
that the other side was
the same. And you don't
want to deal with the rage
of a tired snail.
It is sad to find yours is
such an unglamorous totem.
Tomorrow I will feel
like an old philosopher.
I might even go as far
as to offer advise
(tiresome and languid),
and will talk about my
great and epic drift
through the great gray dessert.
And you will say,
here's a wise man,
without knowing that
everything was a mistake.
That it still is.
I warn you, I can change
expressions, seamlessly.
Remember this, cats can't
smile, they can laugh or
destroy it's world,
with the furious sorrow
and as slowly
as a tired mollusk.
And they will try.