against a backdrop of wisteria
rising Fascism
© Rachel Green May 2025
VI.VII
Through lips that turn a mottled hue of green
like they were prised from tomb cadaver dry
and parched like desert sand were lodged between
its voice becomes the wind beneath the sky.
"Be not afraid," the angel says, as if
unused to uttering the human speech,
the blackened spike of tongue between its teeth
the battering of waves against a beach.
"You plea has caught the ears of One Who Dreams
and bestowed of you a temporary grace
to be a vessel of Our Lord of Schemes
the herald of a change to mortal face."
© Rachel Green May 2025
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