never
could this turtle
the size of a dinner plate
dancing on the manic beach before me
ever be more real
than those damn Grateful Dead
terrapins
that graced the bumper
of your car in
the summer of 1980
which is where I’m sure this one
escaped from
since something I saw on TV earlier
made me remember you
when I shut my useless lids
you’re just as real as he is
you and your strawberry sex
you and your punch to the crotch
fake devotions
your prison wife tongue a mailbox
shipping junk
which is where I’m sure
the TV
got the idea to remind me
of you and your strawberry punches
all over your face
your hair trailing brutal devotees
who followed you around and around
the woolen mill floor
you
easy as a passcode to steal
easy as summer dumb drunk
God! you were easy as a turtle to pick up
with a shell as smooth as my Riunite goggles
green and snappy cold to the touch
which is why I’m sure I remember you
unhurt by the oily men who weren’t me
even if you lied about them to me
you strawberry boxer
kid assassin with the ass of a star
tonight this turtle
keeps stepping out in my not-quite dreams
makes me think of you
in July
in my fever
which is where you moved to
right after I finally quit that stinking job
strictly because I knew you were always
going to be
dead to me
Dark Matter 
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