The Old Woman of the City, Keeper of its Soul
She was last seen in the abandoned house on St. Mark’s Road,
Floating above the broken syringes and beer bottles,
Lotus-legged and arms outstretched,
Radiating a swirling white light,
Scaring the shit out of stoner trespassers and bandicoots.
They say it was this fear of her inside it,
And not the fists of the goons outside,
That knocked the old house down.
Some know enough to know better
Than to know what they know to be true.
The City has molted
Since the old house was broken,
Since that witch -
With her judging eyes and shimmery hair -
Was last seen floating in it.
We’ve traded that rotted, storied skin
For this glorious armor of steel and glass.
And good riddance, boss. God only knows
What terrible dark magic those sags and wrinkles held.
Good fucking riddance.