Author: Steven Robertson

STRAW for the oxen that will carry this relic, golden
TUMORs to appease this foreign god and remove his
SLIMY pestilence from our town–relief will feel like a fresh
TUNIC compared to the plagues we’ve had from him.

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STEEL glinting in the headlights’ glare over the
KNOLL where the black car, indistinguishable from the
GLOOM, becomes the midwives for a nascent
FELON, unbeknownst to even himself.

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nOCTurnAL sentries spy the rushing hordes: like
BISON stampeding on the plains.
SAINTs implored, icons kissed, and
HEFTY weapons readied for the onslaught.

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USING the initial capital invested is no mere
SPORT with no consequence; while there is no set
QUOTA to reach, the Investor will come to
DEBIT from the account to see what return was gained.

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VENUE and means unexpected;
VENOM that should drop a man dead
SHIED from the Power within and thrown in the fire:
CRICK in the neck held over from a head wound.

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EVERY moment is no semicolon forcefully ending but a
COLON that leads by the hand to the end:
NIGHT-gloom chased by day’s conquest,
MANOR of rest after weary travels.

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RIGOR of training, answering
BUGLE calls for formation changes:
WEDGE sleep in the crevices of the day, a
STINT that ends too soon every time.

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SCARF against the wind howling like an angry
DEMON, hands shivering, blistered, and
SOOTY from the rush to start a fire
EMCEE not too masterful tonight.

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VIVID, cutting quips
BELCH forth like volcano ash,
IDLE remarks with tectonic effects
TEASE wounds recklessly.

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POUND the chest and
GLOAT in expected victory but
PAUSE to consider if you’re
EXALTing the right King.

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