• Hawkeye
    The perch atop a peak,
    the crowning of laurels,
    an empire stands mighty,
    visible from the heavens

    Peons of pebblestone,
    Tick, tock, tick.
    Affluence, motifs
    stand still evermore

    Strike one

    Thorvald in the courtyard,
    back broken and soaked
    Bow before the Subjects,
    but wit outplays rank

    Thorvald in the slum
    wheelbarrow emptied,
    musty quarters, candlelit
    A plot, a growing ember

    Strike Two

    Draw bridge enclosure,
    guards patrolling above
    A fly to the slain feast,
    one gets under the skin


    Triggers and snares,
    of nameless goodbyes
    Crumble and smolder,
    alas dethroned

    Strike Three

    Thorvald in the ruins, the soot