By Nikoli Weir

To look upon the dying stars

From the comfort of a car

Speeding on a blackened road

To my spirit’s next abode

Far across the planes of time

Through woods of prose and fields of rhyme

To a dead and dusty city

Overrun by the Lord’s pity

For the sick and destitute

Who always dealt in absolutes

Up until the day they died

And left the city dead and dried.