The Molten Saints Inside Me Do Not Quiet Issue no. 230 Fall 2019 Like an alarm I can’t shut off, the summer.Like air raid sirens stuck onthe world is burning, the world is burning& I can’t stop it. Can’t stop ash from the reddening sky falling dry onto grass, onto cloverlit purple at their tips. Mouth level.My cheek muscles the ground. I can’t hear anything here. I can’t hearthem but I know, around me,forests are not quiet as they burn.