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pale green turtles breaking out of their shells
to gorge on our core, a haven of smells
fraught with intent they chat up our bowels
stroking the stronghold with rowdy vowels
flapping their flippers turned feet overnight
they rush out the back and squeal in delight
as daybreak befuddles their hornless rims
we scratch off their spots and stifle their limbs
beaks askew they stare us right in the face
their gist stretched thinly in wide open space
earnest and eager to proceed they blink
so pleadingly that we´re over the brink
the raggedy rags covering our sin
we let them reflesh to pass off as skin
for our fevered fads, beaten but not slain
patches they then weave to lap up the pain
and onward we march and brazenly flaunt
all that we have, which is all they might want
(Today, to accompany this poem, which I wrote
a couple of years ago, I pieced together a little
collage. It was fun – the flow definitely applauded
me for doing something creative again!