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Show AT SOUND OF SIRENS The point of impact is irrevocably stained, her blood forevered in asphalt congealing the quick death in black tar. The ambulance sirens her remains away; patrol cars scatter, searching dark stains, hair clinging, on bent grillwork, a battered fender in someone's driveway - evidence of dying no one saw- No one? Someone knows, feels, hears the sound that treadmills like a caught rat through a brain unsleeping now in dread of a summons to tell Unfree of the rodent-gnawing bruising his body, he cowers as maggot-fear empties his skull and tumbles it leaf-like toward blood seeping and a body tagged "Hit and Run" waiting for tears. |