Mindless, the body is perfect,

an outline—form without
content, absent of tone, lying

in the street. Faint halo of white
where it touches the concrete.

When a car almost hits you
you actually scream; it's embarrassing.

Unless you die instantly.
In the best of all possible worlds

you die instantly, before
the formation of memory, scars.

Before there were stop signs.
Before there were cars.

I want to lie on the top level
of an empty garage

to feel close to the sky
as I lose my mind...

I'm afraid—I'm afraid I'll
feel pretty transcendent.

__

This could be about a fear of death or a desire for death, but more likely, fear of a desire for death, or desire for the fear of death. And that apocalyptic quality to parking garages.

*Writing tip: Running is a good occasion to have ideas, but it works better if you run "clean"—no headphones.