(Inspired by On the Road by Jack Kerouac)
Like Jack, I run
from one falling star to another
until I drop too.
But when I drop
I feel like I don’t deserve
to do so.
I have nothing to offer anyone
except for my own empty confusion.
So I get up and run on again.
I am lean on memories,
like the vacant man who jabs
the needle for his thousandth
hole in his worn, woesome arm,
living on that feeling when you’re driving away
and the people you love
turn to specks
But they are timeless shadows
that never shed a tear,
so why should I?
I don’t die enough to cry.
My destiny is to walk the plank
– the one all the angels dove off –
but not to jump.
Instead I’ll stand alone
beneath immense skies,
now starless, unseen and therefore heavy,
waiting to become the atmosphere.
Because the mortal realm is bleak.
All my stars have fallen.
God is gone.
There is silence.
I will seep into the atmosphere,
chasing the memory
of those falling stars going round in my head.
Then, maybe, that darkness and what it does to me
will give me something to offer.
Maybe someone else, then, lean on memories,
will start running between their falling stars
until they drop too,
Published by The Clementine Zine