Carcass as highway
Birds, birds, birds!
Curled and sloppy ends
of ass and teeth
muddled between cross sections.
Their wounded bodies, darker than
the roads they know as graves.
How many cars roam over these dead bodies?
I count each one my tires flatten.
They’re gone the next day.
Removed from their
grave.
Roads must be hungry. They are
Forgotten.
Forever.

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