Fell from Heaven without a brother. Hand open, falls upon the smoking six-lane wreck of morning. Achilles in love with the world, hand open to skim the wind, gets into position above the merge. Born from Gods of Acceleration, a spearhead bright and cruel and thrust into the sand. Hand closed, clasps the back of the neck of his brother, holds his brothers' head to his head. Rejoice. Blessed engineers drew perfect converging arcs in space, cambers and radii, filled them in with concrete and asphalt, gave them back to the people to die on. Achilles steaming on the overpass at night, preparing, praying to the God of Propulsion. Achilles head down, shoved into the wind. Hand open reaching to feel the impossible wind across the tops of trees. Hand closed with the hideousness of dragonflies. His hand is closed, mourning openly the loss of his brother. Admiring the noise and cruelty of the wind, in a summer of hawks and wind. Counting concrete barricades, scarred from metal and black from tires. Counting seven blue birds flashing, blue flashed open across their open backs.
at 11:17 PM