He'll scratch at starts of fretting words—
tease fracture, prime the battle grounds
for pride obtained. His fans file in
to bleachers, cheering on his crumbling
look, delayed desi·re. Miniscule
diversions check the "up"
he squared, and see no timeless evil:
passion plagued by livings. Lev'rages
her fighting stance to balance
danger there, and carve out if we care.

She breaches past and pores
over the staid solution, masons
filling out their bricks with what
was worn away. Her dreams combative
to his growing-light—once tossed
his turn, he slashed through living
wood—severed the Marchness from it.
Zeroes stall, embedded in
a leaf, awaiting green. Conquers
repetitive, from coast to kingdom
come. What emptiness is won?