Author: Steven Robertson

NOMAD, having never settled down, thinks himself
CANNY–too shrewd for the nerds and the
CABIN-dwelling weirdos–and
SNORTs at the thought of losing.

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FEIGN a smiling disposition, wear the
ASCOT to match your eyes; don’t seem too
EAGER or they’ll simply
CHALK it all up to happenstance.

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RAJAH dwells in an ornate
MANOR, oblivious to each
LOUSE that dwells in the walls.
THE TAme and the wild cohabiting.

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SPINY exterior to match the cactus-like
ORGAN of emotion, empathy, patience within,
WALTZ counts out its threes, but I’m here
ALONE.

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ANGST wracks his heart. Again. It
BEGAN what seemed like ages ago, but the realizations
SEIZE him with grief anew.
PEACH is in another castle.

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FECAL- (and otherwise-) stained walls and floors elicit a
GROAN upon entrance; their ability to
SCARE only surpassed by a unexpected (yet unsurprising)
CLANK at the most inopportune time.

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CHART-topper in the works,
AUDIO streaming through the headphones–then
DEALT a tough blow with a message in the
INBOX: supply-chain shortage means no cowbell.

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FERAL predators in the urban jungle,
LATTE in hand,
EQUAL to none in ambition:
FRUIT borne comes from the root.

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AZURE-eyed, long-haired, and bored,
CAROL served another coffee,
SORRY to see the hours pass so slowly.
SCONE and latte, here for his usual.

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BERET-ce yourselves, boys, the gales be blowin’
CATTY-cornered to our path, and in a
PUFFY’d be blown away,
SPUN-Klear around like a tornado and gone.

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