My Human Disguise.
The doorways are too small for grown women,
Who’re as tall as the ever-lit street lamps.
This is a city of unspoken sin,
Surrounded by ancient stones and armed camps.
Litter bearers take angels to the lake,
Where wing-naked once again they wake
In the warm waters off the stoney shore
Only to find that they’re angels no more.
On the flagstone street a mother, praying
Or reading from a book, awaits the Change,
The moment when she and all her daughters
No longer hear what men are unsaying,
When all they’ve understood becomes deranged
And their minds (if not their souls) are slaughtered.
