is dead in a bag, underneath the overpass.
We know this from the shape
this is even the right place to put a dead thing
among the stagnant rain, the floating trash
We see it everyday. We talk about it with our friends, but
The bag is untouchable.
It lays for weeks.
And one day, as we pass through on our way to the movie theater,
we see it is torn open with clothes coming out.
But what is this place? That smell?
And that breath down your neck sensation that