I.
despite the rainfall
still a baby blanket's rise
floating parents' joy
it revives, cursive through the twist wind
then it flutters once more
and wisps violet away
II.
the hills crawl distant
rampant is the graylight
humming
even the streetlights do not alight
this storm's brutalist sway
look; atop the wires, the crows stills silent.
III.
mountains of rubble cascade from the brownstones
effaced swift
torn to gravestones
mice breed heaving polluted nitrogen
their lungs swirled chemtrails;
in the basement, Saint Peter's denial
IV.
through the wind
a Duga radar clone
the transmission:
the waterfaint iris
look closely (the tears
run the wrong way)
V.
swellcrashing currents
oceanic kleptotides
smoke opiate lethargy
dear God: take me home
###
Alec Ivan is a write from the Great Lakes. He is the author of REATTA (Bottlecap Press, 2026), and has pieces that have appeared in Keep Planning, Plague Circus Press, Always Crashing, Beyond the Last Estate, Expat Press, Loser, Apocalypse Confidential, and BRUISER, among others. He lives in Indiana with his wife and three cats.