In ttpobdh, neon signs in the ice are the harbringers of gloom, no meaning for anyone around because everyone around has been gone for longer than the signs have been here. The body craves a liminal space, desire mists into existence.
The body is an attempt at meaning, external mundaneness.
My favorite one is where the trolley is running over an infinite number of people and the prompt says "you can stop the trolley at any time, but would that really be fair to all the people it already killed?"
Poetry is a fossil of memory. Memory is a witness of forgetting