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Batter Mansley
A step ahead of his drunken hoard,
with toting guns and carry-ons;
a walking slab of swatted meat,
all scars and snuff and alcohol.
There is no time for the walking man,
with a loud and bellowed chain of command,
to sit at ease for a length of time
which could be used to raze a hollow.
A favored sound, the clink of coin
and the fragrant boom of lichen powder;
he finds his center upon the field
where many lay - where blood may harden.
His soul is chained and tethered to
a link upon his neck. Whereas he
had sold it off, he draws it back
and sees that his profit is entirely his own.
For all the women of the land,
he sees no reason for a pause,
and for every weak and fragile man,
he sees a boot atop their skulls.
An independent contractor -
a deviant through sin and shrapnel -
a man named Batter Mansley,
who will come calling, for a price.
