You are the rate of decay – the speed of a motion that punches you in the spine (which explains how you never seem to stop moving, even when you're moving in the wrong direction – and that's always.) In pieces, the spine looks like teeth. It's not backwards. Even decay talks about about being buried. By time or swallowed by earth, it doesn't matter. Decay is decay, left under the wide concrete sky; and you know this, so you wait.

What else is there to do?