Taxi Explosion

The sliding door burst like a coconut.
Money, bones amidst
the smoking ligaments.

Fingers twitching the last seconds.
The impact tore off.
Their heads.

Escarpment.
Frayed tufts in the sun,
wet.

The heat of the day smelt
like fresh tar of wounds
talking, writing and waiting,

the sun stripped of its engine.
The moon lost a few fingers.
A few lovers.

A few trees would never
forget their scars
in this hand dug tunnel.
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