Flumes Vol. 5: Issue 1, Summer 2020 | Page 45



By S. T. Brant

The world is without drink: I will be its water! but it is only the

thousand thirsty

Who will be visited, not the scoundrels that haven't thirst yet have

their cups

And have their fountains that they fill from, who may drink and drink;

And who bathe their toes in water for the shadow of a smudge to

quench the blemish.

A Typhoon, I come to those, relentless until they are as lily pads upon

the surface-

Then will I become a broad and endless rain to slake the dying

Who will gape into the heavens and drink god.