The God Half

That crippling poison game of second year

relocates, from Point Chevalier hallways to

the unmapped streets of Hamilton

Down by the river, at Devil's hour

- opposite that clock which hung Christ -

the demi-Humans create a raucous, 

fishbowled from the earthly chaos above.

Noah's apocalypse streams from his face, the flood gates

wall up in hers,

mighty Cyrus' throne fuses to the base of her spines,

demanding seats

She turns her knees away,

her back

wrenches tighter the shutters

Then the pelting hail.

Sent by some other being refused fire -

graciously, though enough to promote

fury in God's

The carriage never comes

We wander forty through the swallows, holding

tongues and speaking them, too

We head north, such as all souls do at Death

for we have died tonight

and will be rebirthed in 

tomorrow's dying sunlight

glimpsing a few silenced hours before the

Dark again.