Literature
hope county
i. (amazing grace, how sweet)
you rode in
on a seraphim, wrath
with the white horse
champing.
o, bit
more than
could chew.
i knew you were coming,
was told by the
very one that brought you
here.
to me, to me,
to my own
gate.
ii. (the sound that saved a wretch)
you will try
but i cannot
be blinded,
cannot be quiet,
cannot be taken.
no bit
tongue here,
grace only grows.
like bliss,
ivying up from eden
through the rotors,
like the heel
on the head
of the snake.
holy, holy,
the angel
falls,
like me.
iii. (i once was)
lost and
hunted,
slow as sin
blooms in
the enraged,
you will be brought
low.
the other horses
we will break,
like the sea
