Route 202

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Route 202
 
The curb slosh reads like sheet music;
black rubber tubing and jockey shorts,
some cigarettes and shoes.
                        Over there
a dry branch rises from a pile of leaves
with each passing car.
 
My bones crackle with laughter
as the carrion wind picks the trees clean.
 
Wet yellow leaves
try to merge with the asphalt and fail.
 
My heart beats an animal skin,
how loudly the blood scrapes in my veins.
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