Kings of Oblivion by Tanya Rakh

“my brother lays upon the rocks,

he could be dead, he could be not,

he could be you . . .”

—David Bowie

When we lost you, we didn’t just lose

a seismic voice, chloroform eyes,

half-smile that unearthed all our secrets...

When you sang, the velvet sky drew closer

The moon swayed upon your tongue,

illuminating the open door.

I confess:

I wanted to be you.

Just for one day

To bare my teeth as the Starman

To be impossible in a cosmic skin.

Since you left us here among the chaos,

we learned nothing ever truly leaves.

You crossed that velvet starscape,

but we still hear you, loud and iridescent.

Oblivion is a planet of its own.

When I think about my inevitable grave,

the final song of breath,

I know that if you went, there is somewhere to go.

The stars, the planets eclipsing closer,

write five words in the sky:

It’s going to be okay. 

Tanya Rakh was born on the outskirts of time and space in a cardboard box. After extensive planet-hopping, she currently makes her home near Houston, Texas where she writes poetry, surrealist prose, and cross-genre amalgamations. Her writing has appeared in numerous journals including The Gasconade Review, Redshift 4, Literary Orphans, Fearless, Yes, Poetry, and The Rye Whiskey Review. Tanya is the author of two books: Hydrogen Sofi and Wildflower Hell, new editions of both available from Posthuman Poetry & Prose.