The Cosmatomic Turtle

I am the Cosmatomic Turtle

And I like to jiggle the little

Jello molds of humanity.

They think they’re pretty wicked

With those sick skateboard flips

But I’ll yoink the oink

Right out of their piggy little pride.

—

I am the Cosmatomic Turtle

And the gas station man won’t plan

Ahead more than a week, the freak.

I need that methylene olly oxide free gasoline

Or I’ll go sane, same as I used to be

Back in Cthulhu’s second exile (he filed

For divorce three times but never got rid of me.)

—

I am the Cosmatomic Turtle

And I’m a big fan of wigs,

The bleary ones that live in the lake

And make stupid fatal mistakes

Like eating liver when silver’s so à la mode

And oh, contrary to little known belief,

I’ve invested in a roach-infested mobile home.

—

I am the Cosmatomic Turtle

And the electro-marionette waves are intruding

Into my tiny clumps of sparkly brain matter.

Call me on the landline, that’s fine,

I’ll just leave this sweet lonely time

Snoozing on top a Casio watch face,

With nothing but a taco and two limes

—

I am the Cosmatomic Turtle

And I’m floating in the subcutaneous goo,

I’m the inner space between your cellular soup.

Without me you’d be a shift-shape loser,

A puddle of blubber, a boogie board cruiser.

I’m the stuff of the universe, that symbiotic blob

Spreading like butane across a dry timber log.