No Kingdom

Sweat drips,
      Sweat through thick black eyebrows
salinely blearing smears a blacker world,
as fingers fumble down the shafts of arrows,
tautly bend the end of life, and aim it at the girl.

The archer stands firm legs apart, stillness
in his lungs, the quiver slung across his back
tranquil as the child beneath her dress—

Arrowhead pierces the amniotic sac.

A barren queen collapses to the dirt,
An assassin fades to shade and disappears,
The king, she holds: a torn and bloodied shirt,
whose kingdom:
      “Gone,” sold by an auctioneer.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s