I-80 Cuncil Bluffs, Omahaimages (1)stepping on the vicious tale
of snaky, skidding, sleety, sliding words…
…breaks squick. Contradicting thoughts. Crashed.
Glass glare. Spun on the blind spot.
She died in the middle lane…
… with meaning bursting 
in her mental sparks and blackouts;
still hope feathers falling off the iron bridge
slow, velvety, light. No one could find her body….
The old memory river closed its golden cage.

“Have you read the next morning newspaer?”
You and me drowned….

“What a wreck!?”
In the rearview-mirror
skyline towers whisper radio-air
and I saw again that face She wore too long.
“See her? Up there?”
laced with wording, mouthful old melody
and the same refrain of the firing synapses–

“Give me a break,” the last sigh stops
At the brink of g[a][e]t-e-[a]way…..


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