Cameron Shaw

My New Black Nothing

I thought…
Never touch the soil for it’s sour stench marks you forever like the stain of dog’s piss on a tree. Cold. Ragged sleeves, a wind that nails you. Bite. Gnawing flesh. Shiver in the darkness. Squatting. Hugging knees. Smell the cold. Smell the ground. Look to touch it. Reaching down, eyes wide open with anticipation…

Distinguished Writer of the ArtAscent Black call for entry. To see the full body of work, grab a copy of the ArtAscent Art & Literature Journal Black issue.

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