like an old tyrant
Bellowing and croning
like a fragile body.
She sways her wretched
hand over heads
and breathes her repugnant
voice into our faces.
Above her lies a row
of symbols -
A fish curled next
to a hole in the sky.
An open book
with a wrinkled tree.
Pink elephants and a
terrible gargoyle.
It all speaks death
and it rolls with the
waves of the sea.
