Collapse

Its last pulse was the echo of an interior draught. Some time ago the sluggish monopod had taken its leave. Beached on the concrete path the brown shell has no way of putting itself at safety. The unseeing crunch the barren passageways underfoot. — The above poem is about an abandoned snail shell like the

Turtles return

If Turtles Listened to Jazz featured first as a post this time last year, and was later included in Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys.