Vendor

Faithless squalor
Down the hollar
Today the vendor
A wagon bender.

There’ll be a hanging.
Our hearts cleve, dangling
On broken rope,
Unravelled hope.

The pig then whistles
A misguided missile.
Shiny trinkets,
Blind stitch blankets.

There’ll be a banquet
For those with mercy.
But we who drank it,
Our pain is cursory.

Salvation swinging
In the balance.
A swayback horse
And shoulder valance.

There is a force
When tongues are wagging
Oh yes, of course,
He sells the magic.

And so we buy,
Because we paid
For tears to cry.
The Lord hath made.

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ZONE S2,E12