Misc.

She had read a book when she was young.  It might have been set in the west.  In the story was a horse that was not important.  The exhausted animal ran and jumped too lowly, and cut its stomach from rib-bottom to crotch.  Intestines rained from the gash; hooves hit the gore and it slid with grace.  Finally the horse and it's body splashed, sliding to a stop and eyes calming. 

Seated and looking down, she thought of this now.  The parts that should be inside and clean and pink and vibrated with faint pulse in the dust.  Beside her, her leak made mud.  Her mouth might have formed a smile.  What surprised her the most was the smell; she was an open sewer. Her eyes moved out to the brown horizon, found a dust devil, and lingered.