Roadkill

A living body would have melted the snow
that fell with wintery indifference and gathered in the folds
of its broken limbs.
Passing trucks made waves of ice and asphalt that crashed against its side.
It bared the force with a stillness that can only be had in death, but for a moment
it looked like bravery.
Its beady eyes could not see
the frost growing from the corner of its eye where it looked
like a tear had fallen just before those tiny living spheres became
inanimate.
Blood spills slowly when you’re hit by a car.
There is no blade to make a gory exit for your insides.
Just a blunt force
that knocks everything out of place but leaves
the body,
maybe dead or maybe dying but definitely
dreaming.

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