Like a lasso, the end of the world arrives
with the showmanship of a noose.
The earth, reversed. Hot, endless
ocean, then: land, coagulating
like a scab. There will be nothing
to remember us. Not the dunes
like an unturned hourglass. Not the lakes
blooming like a womb. Not the shores
receding like a hairline. Not the glaciers,
sweating to our warm breath. Not
our warm breath. The poem is left
unfinished. We will have to start again
as wordless algae. Silent as stars. Nowhere
to put our nice, clean hands. Do you follow
the laws of quantum physics?
Will my brain bleed consciousness
into a type of heaven? Somewhere,
a snake introduces the concept
of knowledge: the idea of sin.
How to swallow one’s own tail.
Because objects in motion will stay
in motion, the wheel is invented
again & again. The vowel is invented
again & again because a mouth wants
another mouth. This longing becomes
a plot. This plot becomes a lineage.
Nothing gets created again & again.
Like the inifinty between two mirrors,
the sky tears open for a new planet
& closes its mouth around a dying star.
Something celestial is taking a bow.
Something will be borrowed. Something
will be blue. Something will burn, red hot,
before it dies with the showmanship
of a noose. Like a lasso, the end
of the world arrives. An infinite loop.
Planet Detroit and Book Suey partnered to curate and publish climate poems from our community. Read the rest of the poems here.