It’s not empty out there. This nowhere road is cluttered with bones. A toppled pile for every star burning in the black sky.
Shed your skin during the long walk of dying. Thoughts will churn into flashing colors.
Drop your bones in a clatter and float alone toward those stars.
JR Walsh is the Online Editor at The Citron Review. He teaches creative writing at SUNY Oswego. Find his writing on itsjrwalsh.com.
