Won't Back Down by Matt Kearney

treed

deep nights come  (and)
the

backwards  whirling
will commence,

as soon as you  get back.
i hear them

with my ears off.
i

cut them down
like

daisies, spinning around
madly

in a blank canvas sea
of faces,

van gogh - isms

on the wall.
i paint them red.
in

the dark      i can hear them
swirling,

basking in the mad delirium
i

offer up to the trees
with

a single squeeze   of
      the trigger.

it's a water hose, in my hand,
and   i hold it up to the sky   as

i ask God (to let the
migration)

commence.