Conversation Among the Car and Bodies

Conversation Among the Car and Bodies

they looked lovely in the brightest sunflower.

I took them for tiny electrons leaping on an empty husk.

the hand, out of the car's window, as my pupil,

clutched on a deadly hurricane.

forgetting the view, he moved gently and his bumper

whipped the gnomes away.

I thrived in my hormonal flee. it takes minutes

to eat red water. his discharge, 

a trail of white moisture in the white noise.

bodies tangled beneath the whining engine.

running and wailing, they cupped

the chaos. the bodies, like my baby's

stretched in agony, in memorable

consciousness.

"Are they dead?" is the rule

if run-over by a blind headlight.

"no, " a huge, raven-like figure flee the site,

with a bag of bone as peaceful

as the moon's face. his unsteady eyes

confessional and bold. maybe, it ferried

a child—two years ago—to mind.

the snapped elbow.

the rising hills on his head and skin.

the stubborn fever; the startled crowds.