The Croupiers Vintage<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I stand stoic and ready,<\/p>\n
unashamed or moved by Valkyrie\u2019s command,<\/p>\n
She set her cards at play,<\/p>\n
the demise of discerned brethren, to be mortally harmed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I do as instructed,<\/p>\n
unwavering in grotesque purpose,<\/p>\n
Dialing up my spirited friend,<\/p>\n
my voice highly insistent.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He arrives by car at location given,<\/p>\n
Reeking of apricot brandy,<\/p>\n
I demand not to be driven,<\/p>\n
I guide him inside to turn him into Chianti.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He stumbles at my behest,<\/p>\n
The stairs his worst enemy,<\/p>\n
Footing not best<\/p>\n
Unaware of impending calamity.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Inquiries are introduced,<\/p>\n
At sight of ancient wine press,<\/p>\n
My intended victim seduced,<\/p>\n
Ignorant at soon being put to rest.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I entice him closer,<\/p>\n
Dear friend of old,<\/p>\n
\u2018Never fear of getting sober,<\/p>\n
Wine favors the bold\u2019.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Shuffling on to impending doom,<\/p>\n
His bright red face,<\/p>\n
Soon to be utterly removed,<\/p>\n
Welcome to his final resting place.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Where grapes be crushed,<\/p>\n
His head peeks in,<\/p>\n
A turn of the crank,<\/p>\n
Murder is my mortal sin.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Slowly I churn,<\/p>\n
His body goes numb,<\/p>\n
For out of his ears,<\/p>\n
Spurts the remainder of cranium.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Body convulses in surprising throes,<\/p>\n
My dear friend Chris,<\/p>\n
Out the press\u2019s tap,<\/p>\n
Your tainted blood flows.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My task now complete,<\/p>\n
A friend extinguished,<\/p>\n
I shall now greet,<\/p>\n
Valkyrie with her contestant.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As chunks of jellied cerebrum,<\/p>\n
Coat my bloodied hands,<\/p>\n
Dearest Valkyrie,<\/p>\n
Give up your brotherly cherub.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
For it\u2019s the angelic Jon,<\/p>\n
You shall terminate,<\/p>\n
Completely sever his throat,<\/p>\n
With crimson hues he shall be innate.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Your choice of weapon creative must be,<\/p>\n
A rusty instrument will work quite well,<\/p>\n
Perhaps a farmer\u2019s sickle,<\/p>\n
Send the angelic boy to hell.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Croupiers Vintage I stand stoic and ready, unashamed or moved by Valkyrie\u2019s command, She set her cards at play, the demise of discerned brethren, to be mortally harmed. I do as instructed, unwavering in grotesque purpose, Dialing up my spirited friend, my…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3323,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-97639","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/97639","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3323"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=97639"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/97639\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":99388,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/97639\/revisions\/99388"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=97639"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=97639"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=97639"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}