She thought about death. She thought
about decomposing bodies in the earth,
and wondered. She wondered if maybe
Moses finger was in an onion shed ate,
or Attilas belly button in that juicy tomato.
Does she breathe in Poes eyes and breathe
out Kennedys cheeks? Shell never know,
so she keeps her thoughts, she keeps putting
her hands out the car window, allowing them
to be forcefully met with the air and its stories.














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