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I wanted to write. A poem about roadkill today. Flattened on the side of the road; indescribable, unidentifiable. Bones crushed into a meal, a not-yet powder. Icky. The feeling I get from creating art from something gruesome. Gruesome, something I am, probably, for being removed enough from this topic to write about it. I could only see a mound of white on red on fur from my window. My car is red. It was probably bone, or scar tissue. Is it called scar tissue if the skin was just ripped open? How long should I wait to classify it as scars?

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