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. |