Shushes the trucks cars delivery vans

guardrails and trees falling sideways

broken by the wind of a pandemic

keep driving look for the easy exit alone

not dead yet I can read the small words

bolted to a big gray truck contains human

burial matter this life the one I mapped

out planned for years ago with such certainty

I even put up bookshelves that sway inside me

collapse everything is a forest of question

marks test it burn it this material life I change

lanes turn on the radio look for the off ramp

pull over mask up gas up the only body I have

and question the living language of my life