Vendor

Faithless squalor
Down the hollar.
Today the vendor
On 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.

1/7/25
ZONE S2,E12