as you squeegee off the bugs
you can notice or ignore them
but they've still all died
on the windshield
while you counted the miles
and sang along to the radio
your very existence
relies upon taking in dead things
and shitting them out
but that only troubles you
for a moment
some of your loved ones are dead too
others live and you're killing the bugs
to go visit them
you drive away
burning another tank of dead dinosaurs
the dead bugs float in soapy water
you munch on dead blueberries
and live
for the time being
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