I’m sitting at an old card table typing on someone else’s computer
I hear noises from the kitchen.
This is not my house.
Where am I?
But seriously, what has my life become.
Am I singing on the inside or crying on the outside.
Am I really happy or just convincing myself of a very clever lie.
Who really knows me? I’m not included on that list.
Turtles. They are covered in bacteria.
Wonderfully and wholesomely benign.
And yet majestically abrasive.
And totally random.