I cry for the coyote dead in the road his soft pink innards splayed around him in a half-circle his tawny furred form lying precisely on the double-yellow lines as if it landed on a bulls-eye I cry for the coyote and for myself lost and whimpering I keep thinking...
I grip with my mind I grip with my stomach and shoulders I grip with my anus I grip to keep from falling down down down into the special hell realm reserved for children and animals I grip to keep from falling down into despair and heartbreak for those beings and...
on this road I walk barefoot mud hard-packed or soft and wet rutted by wagon wheels from centuries ago on this road tall buildings sometimes explode and collapse on my right and great dark caverns gape open in the earth on my left the young ones are frightened I take...
