Overruns

 The river swells ugly.

Banks split,

mud torn back to bone.

Concrete chokes,

cracks widen,

steel bends until it screams.

Branches snap like ribs,

whole trees dragged down,

fences chewed into splinters.

Walls cough plaster,

basements drown in silt.

The water hammers,

not flowing,

pounding,

a constant static grind

that eats everything hollow.

Bridges stagger.

Roads fold in on themselves.

Order buckles under weight,

a geometry erased.

Call it flood if you want..

The river knows no name but hunger.

It widens.

It claws out space.

It refuses the cage.

Every surge leaves scars..

brown lines on walls,

gutters jammed with rot,

trash welded into branches.

Each mark a reminder:

containment is a lie.

Not release.

Not silence.

Only the grinding surge,

the crunching of water,

that unabating itch against stop.