A woman drove to the end of the freeway,
Where parking lots spread like cancer.
She took her ticket and walked away,
Shedding her clothes like black snakeskin.
This, of course, attracted a following,
Cell phone cameras clicking, birds circling,
Everyone was sure they’d seen her before.
At the foot of the mountains she paused
Just long enough to shave her head,
Then trekked on up the brown slopes,
Gravel trickling down from her steps.
Around the tree line she turned to the crowd,
Mouthed, “I love you,” turned inside out,
Skin, organs, spinal column puddling
While something white, blinding, bright
Wafted to the clouds like incense,
Growing dimmer, growing duller,
Growing gone.
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