Nighthawk

Headlights sweep cold retinas,
And the rain can't keep us safe,
Deep in the eaves, in shadow,
It's just red, suspended eyes,
A silent, patient sniper,
With a scan, a laser knife,
To build models of the world,
Thought logical and constant,

Sanctioning is, they say,
Non-lethal, a trivial incision,
To help one with focus,
So precise and targeted that,
We're supposed to welcome,
All the shocks and nudges,
The suggestions of employment,
Designed to suck out hope,

In this dark world, the hawk is king,
Distributing advice, a prophet,
Submerging the dead in debt,
Streaming flesh on barbed wire,
Under the shelter of rotten wood and,
Calming the fearful dangerously,
Karma would be a welcome echo
Sent like a shark to quarter men.