Working Class Corner/Turtles

Turtles are my favorite animals.

Day before yesterday I found one in the road turned upside down and closed up, but not smashed.

I stopped and moved that turtle to the grass.

When I was young he was a Box Turtle.

How he got turned upside down is not known to me.

Maybe he was so slightly grazed by a car wheel that he was turned upside down.

Turtles do not do jumping jacks or play on trampolines.

I got to be God to that turtle, which is either a he or a she apparently,

depending on the temperature.

I would like to see a movie of sex between turtles.

There are things that I do not know about and have never seen

And will never see,

And do not understand.

Obviously turtles and tortoises are so similar that I am tempted to call them all turtles.

Possibly they have different ways of having sex.

Some of these reptiles seem to have sex that is like having a satisfying bowel movement.

Comparable to mastibatory reproduction practice.

Still I imagine that turtles have souls because of the way I feel about them.

I want to be a turtle that swims in the creeks near the ocean.


After I am a human.

Having a thick skin, a bit of armor on my back and staying low to the ground or better yet in a near infinite sea and sort of weightless seems okay if thinking isn’t all that important and the world is a gift I do not need any capcity to change.

Being a human being is difficult.

We are required to share some things and the place we live with not just ourselves, but turtles.

The answers to our questions come out of our mouths and we expect someone to answer and look for an answer when all that comes is an echo that is a question.





Save what you dig into.

Die on it and fertilize it is what the souls of the infinite do.

We are finite and have choices to engineer.

Therefore our gift and curse is the same thing

and we are warm blooded fools invested with the hope of turtles and cockroaches.

Forgive yourself.

Something not thought of by a bug as an option for the insured failure.

                                                                                                     Love, Russell


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.