My love found a slim slimey turtle
dragging a sink for a shell
A hitchhikers thumb
and a reception bell
The turtle would live in the new york town house
Hobo neck extended like ET's face unravelling
Reaching out in the dark winter
on a street overcrowded by buildings
gloom in it's amphibian mission
Half expecting to be cut from it's sink for a shell
So that it could move out to the countryside
some microclimate it could push mud into
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