Some roads run over with death, that was eighty five. Insects along the highway call forth a funeral pall inviting forth the fragments of my pain. Some ligament or needle fished through my vein, rising through my meat, inward and chemical. Miles might get me away if I could reconnect with streets bundled up with wonder. I pointed myself for the roots of Umanhum and pushed on faster. With Wednesday the streets we all alone or with those that didn't care. Cut grass met the car passing by Leigh. Hills echoed with nectar and brass from deep within their hearts. Harwood and Almond blossom flooded for from memory. Soon I found myself out near Calero and wondered how. I don't always understand I am only the driver.
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