Which species of bird is a drone?



An obsidian arrowhead
sticks out of Nataruk’s skull

like the boy emperor’s
decayed tooth

—a dumb relic of regret,
quarantined peace.

On prominent display:

seared columns of his fabled empire
bleached bones of his peacock throne.

There were times when his bush-black 
hair harbored lightening; 

when babies weren’t printable 
like maps or ships;

a time when people knew that pulsating roar 
of intelligence—now hovering, already gone—

was the sound of the man
eating himself.