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Strawcoff pulled a small blue brick -or two-
from a clump of decaying leaves and started up the stairs.

In the distance, an unseen carnival blurted
machine sounds and animal cries into the sky &
whisps of low cloud pulled them in close.

There were seven mounds of dirt at the foot of the tall
flight of stairs, two of them soaked in wet pink ashes and
red seeds.

Eighteen small towers and watch-sheds were scattered across the plains all the way to the nearest forest,
which joined to the Scximscis coastline and a small village, now deserted.

This was the eighth tower in,
torn by weathers and wild beasts.

...& now one --or two--
of its bricks were being stolen
for use as a stool or perhaps a
door stopper or bookend.

Strawcoff suspected he may
have been followed that night
but also realises every so often
that he is not the best judge of
what he is or is not afraid of.

it's sometime's not his call to make,
it's for a lil' sideways eight.