Drove by a dead cat, off by side of center median, doubtless thrown there – white with black markings. 

Then she hit a swerve just around a curve – a dead deer.

Et tu?

Its morning quite early and the sky is a sunless tint of white grey haze.

Then a bird flies right at her and what – where did it go? under the car!

And she’s thinking she heard a thump, OH NO, did she kill it?

Dead cat dead deer — dead bird?

Dead dead and dead. A threesie.

Shock, anger, curses. The dead find her look for her.

She is suddenly symbiotic of the same cosmological constant. Everywhere in the car, the world is pyschomantically attuned.

1-2. And one under her wheel! Makes 3. An extortion of secret demonologies to crash into, get lost in it fatal wings.

Death itself somewhere behind enemy lines –

Parachute trooper, forever looking for its target.

Oh sweet hell, a day whose tidy sum is of dizzying slaughter.

And from it – flew a torrent like funeral flowers, their silence stolen away in her heart. She hits the steering wheel, mine mine mine and all of them mine.

On the Pennsylvania Turnpike.