She had a sleepy android face,
forlorn of a world more fists
that spirits, more blade than halo.
Her long dark hair was straight,
and the barest protection from
the rain and the gun.
A leather jacket that been through
the war, stiff and dry and hard,
kept her metal and lightning heart
pounding in her thin but strong chest.
The jeans and boots would keep her name
secret from the demons crawling in her skin.
The rain was the empty words of God,
promise cleanliness, but just making you cold.
The demons came in through the eye, even,
especially, for the pious. All youth and tender innocence
to be sucked dry and picked clean, the demons
arming the men goodly for the job.
Her sleepy android face was still, and sad,
and tears of saltwater or maybe glycerin came,
and a warm place was hollowed out in Athena’s shoulder,
that brass statue up in The Fort, were ruin looks on the river.
That warm place, big enough for one, would shelter her.
For demons are in flesh, and the making of flesh for newborns.
Don’t touch, and The Demons can’t get you.