Off the curve of expressway
in my smithereen car.
I am to desert my body at the moment
of raucous dismemberment.
I am to let go the wheel, all guilts
and poison-pen driving.
I am to forget
thoughts of salmon for dinner
or egg salad. A book after
or loveplay. These plans
will be redistributed.

Have someone snap a photo
of the wreckage,
the spray of red
paint from my bug on the dividers,
an approximation of miscalculation,
and me, the same as ever,
only alone for good.