Turtle

This is a sailor. A turtle sailor.

I think. Do you think?

Let’s think of it that way. 

The Past

Already I miss the sea

Already I miss the sand at my feet

Thinking on the Toilet

Something to think about depositing all that waste.

IBS just flushes all that time away.

Oh well.

Blocked Unblocked

Over time, but not too much time, I found myself to be blocked. My head was full of wax, it started to coat the brain. My nose was stuffed with a full roll of tissue, you could pull it out like magic cloths. My mouth, packed with debris. I breathed and ate through a hole in my neck, but even then there was a blockage of syrup to contend with. It spurted out like blood in a zombie flick, and you could spread it on toast.

Then there was my stomach hanging in a web of bubblegum, and the intestines could barely contain all the gravel I swallowed on my travels. My heart pumped against a layer of Lego bricks.  I was clogged up, blocked up, fucked up, funked up, gunked up.