The Burning

I see you through the slits of sky,
these baffles of metal screen
that shield the ice
of my soulless unconcern.

I see you, in my deafness
with the burn of my bronze gaze
as you fools wheel and waltz.

If only you could comprehend my unpity.

I hold the twin keys to your asylum,
your cells, the gridded patterns
that maze your flesh.
These gear-pieces are my design.

See, inside, the speck of a neutron's soul.
This is me, this solid hole, my signature.

As you bleed I will spy, in silence,
and crush the videotape of your guilt
with sadistic mathematics,
and from Olympus' top, watch.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.