billyfivecrows

flood

1.

The ascending saints
Are like an army of rain
If the earth were flipped
Doom-wise.

No insect
Burns its wing
On a star. No sun
Forgets the vein
Of their warming.

(One sun, one
Strategy of
Forever turned into
A torching rhythm.

I'll pretend
To rediscover
The sky. I'll cry

Out only to have
The blueness refuse
To respond, I'll whistle

Like leaves of Japan
In an old picturebook, frayed

And faded, but better than the real

Thing

Because it's

Here, it's

Near...)


2.

Burn the churches, make

Ink

From

The

Ashes. (That's

An old
Lone
Line of
Mine. I

Have to refine
My repetition
By repetition, I

Have to define
My repetition
Through remission

tell me what it means
tell me what it means

Streams arising

"Stream's a rising"

Means comprising means...)