imogen tells me many tales
her home smells of violets
and old wood, painted
eight times over

rocking chair on the porch
hair in a bun atop her head
so regal, so wise

a lady of few words
except for her memories
she warned me
kindness is twisted
by snakes in the grass

"quiet, quiet."

witches are burned unjustly
even though not a witch
burn the witch

"the world is full of cotton matters.
and judges with no ears."

we are only faces in the fire
aim, aim, aim
mary magdalene, they are after you.

imogen says to hold you head high
eyes cast downward
because the soul is misconstrued
and the judges do not see

thou shall cast the stone
and may it bounce back
to knock senses wide open

swallow the pearl
and burn the swine

no longer shall
i cast my pearls
before swine.