Sea Turtle Iii Poem by Morgan Michaels

Into the azure drink beside me and that was that.
I guess I should consider myself lucky:
I could have been soup, my shell slung on a wall
Sporting a tape-patched bullet hole. Ah, well.
And so I go
Like the sea-going thing,
Like the turtle I am, memory-bereft,
A dark sun, a discus,
Scuttling over the sea's bottom,
Basking in the moonlight,
Weeping, kvetching-out heaps of ping-pong eggs;
And-let this shock your dichotomies,
I really don't care what becomes of them-
I wish them well,
But I've done my bit. Let heaven manage it.
I only long to be
Wrapped once more in the arms of the sea,
Dissolved, all breeze-born memory
Acquired on land, that hiss and burn and kill,
And tell you where to go
Next. The sea that loves me.
(you can hold on to things too long)
Neither purposeful nor purposeless,
The sea is for me, it is, the sea's for me,
For the sea is me, it be, the sea is me.