Author Information
Golemic
[for, and to, the Predatory Mark]
Arms--on the man-thing now before you---reach
out toward you, and its face darkens with rage.
But is he not mere words upon a page,
a poet's myth?---or acted on a stage,
merely a character without a speech?
How is it that the poet's invocation
has placed you in harm's way? What conjuration---
what few or many lines of poetry---
has summoned from some man's imagination
this thing that, frankly, seeks your injury?
Quickly, his fists loosen your teeth and eyes
out of their sockets. He drops you: each knee
is crushed beneath his stomp. Your craven cries
will sound death's rattle, momentarily.
Starward
