Our Lady...

she is barely repressed

violence today

all froth and foam

her cold and pitiless waters

churned to murky teal

around the edges

steadfast steel in the center

her whole being-tangible

and full

her body moves

like tall grass in the

northern wind

laying a little lower

sometimes

but that is an illusion

it's just spin

-it's just your eyes adjusting-

if you look long enough

you see her breathing deeply

you see her body shake and roll

you can sense her restlessness

her otherness

her -ness is a warning

our lady isn't sleeping well

and is in a killing mood