The house in which my bones extended was located beside a highway. My formative years were spent standing within the confines of a chain link fence constructed to prevent my disassociation with the flesh beneath the wheels of a vehicle in route to destination(s) unknown. Synchronous with my early victories toward cognizance was the underlying supposition that indeed my life beyond the front yard was directly dependent upon the speed to which I travel. Additionally, my life within the chain link fence was suggestive of a death that is much more devastating than the cool sedative of inexistence; this particular death burns the living for each day they stand still and neglect or otherwise suppress their potential for movement. My life has thus far been a series of movements. Most of these movements have been erratic and clumsy resultant in mild topographical displacement; always crude and inefficient by virtue of the skin and bones that render obstacles my mind could quickly transgress and transcend...
