it is only the truly wicked
who possess a patience
without precedent
biding their time
making the rounds
with a sycophant guile
playing to all parties
to siphon surreptitiously
the fruit born
of their sadist seed
safe within the harbor
of ambiguous locution
summoning boundaries
with care not to overstep
striking
with the sword
of inference
shielded
by vagary
diligently
doling out
their nettled
words of wanton wreckage
draped
in disingenuousness
brazen
like a khalkotauroi
calculating
every move
to prove themselves
the victor
walk with trepidation
my friend
lest ye draw
their straw of ire
for its burden
ne’er retires
the fire
consuming all
Max, or Not 