I took a trip to the forest where I met a fuzzslug.

It’s got a body like a snail, with fur like a rug.

Not big enough to ride, but they're big enough to hug.

I found one munching mushrooms and shrubs.

I step up slowly, eye stalks start tracking

"I'm sorry, fuzzslug, if stopped your snacking.

I'm a wayward soul, and I'm trying to find

a way to freshen up this moldy mind."

Fuzz starts to buzz, slug starts to slither,

in the swishing of the fur, I start to hear a whisper:

"It's not where you're going, it's not where you're from,

It's not what you plan, it's not what you've done.

it's the slice in between, that's all that you've got,

because life is a dream whether you like it or not."

In a puff of smoke and a slow-mo flash

fuzzslug lit up into a pile of ash.

I watched it drift up and to my surprise

the vapor rearranged into starry skies.

Amazed by constellations for a couple of hours,

then I laid my head to rest in a bundle of flowers.

Woke up under covers, on my bed, in my room.

Thanks, fuzzslug, I'll be back again soon.

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A Poetic Introduction

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