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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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