I drove through a basin with my ex boyfriend. One hour in a straight line and the whole thing was dead dirt.
  The whole time I imagine walking. What was in the car - a water bottle, some corn chips. We sweat bullets.
  The whole time I imagine I am the only survivor of a disease. I could come here and put every rock into a straight line in my eternity.
  Manual terraforming minus intention. I wouldn’t eat. The weather is slow.
  There is no weather and you can see for so far that your eyes burrow straight through the stagnant mountains and through the next valley.
  The whole time I imagine the car has no floor, and my feet drag across the asphalt at eighty miles an hour
  If I time it right, I could smear my entire body proportionally over the hour;
  20 miles in I am grated up to my knees, 40 miles, my waist.
  When I moved across the country the thing that bothered me the most was all the trees on the side of the road.
  You can’t See anything as you race across the landscape- you can’t place yourself.
  The whole time I was in the basin, I imagine what I could hide there. Undo all the metal hooks in all my jewelry, place the links on cactus spines.
  Bury grocery lists, laundry lists, guest lists under an inch of sand.
  The worst thing that I ever did was reach over to my ex boyfriend and put my hands over his eyes as he drove through the basin.
  He screamed, and I snapped out of it.
  We reached Los Angeles in two hours.