Absence of the Unethical Return

Written by Keri Stewart
Art by Jon Tyson

I observe the swoon
and swaddle,
the monotonous movement
cut short
by infancy.
Deprivation and its counterparts.
Hollism within the walls.
Prey of weathered spirits—
to cello tractions.
Yesterday was deception.
Today is the status quo,
worn like sweaters
made of grandma’s yarn.
Idol in the flow.
Year of the carriage
accustomed to hairworm biddings
and their feast
of each leg.
Tell me you love me.
I am made whole
in shoulder-to-shoulder rooms.
Dented glass cheers
and immortal conversation.
A tide is never idle.
Until it is gone,
I see fallacies in context.
Bones molder
in the corners of rooms
where the tides used to roll,
where the people used to be.
These confusions
mark the day I died.