I tell the fly
drown in it

the sky says nothing

I tell the fly
fucking prick

the sky sits still

I tell the fly
a thing so normal

as not to be mentioned

who could it tell
that I had paid attention

(devotion as a currency again)

to a measure of not-heat
and not-sky

(not a vocation)

we are beyond the threshold
so language must be new

and violent, the sky says

as do you