The day of its death was not a dark cold day
By Vacant Dragon à la Subverted Lips, Tishani Doshi
Published 29 February 2024
We misplaced the December birthstone
somewhere in November
or during this new season that has no name
striking blue from sky
sea rises but can’t stop the forest fires
or castles becoming air.
The men who were loved but not lovers
vanished under the first rush of sand.
No longer can we be found in one place on earth.
We are everywhere, we are the ashes of lips
once a thousand diamonds now there only stones
manufactured moans
conflict free consumption
drones document the decline
we ate everyone with an ethical mind
we ate the caretakers who said time was running out.
Remember we once puzzled the parts of dogs
abdomen to muzzle, dewclaw to flew to claw to cheek
our companions are hiding our delicate bones in their throats.
Walking on a leash is not the way out.
We talk of beauty as if we are still beautiful
the art of cutting gems can longer be found
the limerence of water now a satiable thirst.
We wrenched away from the people who are able to love
on behalf of the deceased, we return the sender
we can’t build a memorial to this uncertainty
solid ground is as good a place to lay down as any.
Please take this crest and give it back to the wave
crash us back into the depths again
we crave the imprecise tribute
of feathers post-bird
of shed skin to hand
of ever-shifting sand
of a twenty-to-thirty-year-old mind
of holding this frame for as long as we can.
Footnote: this poem was created using the Emptiness constraint as the starting point.