Squad Justice

The thin black gauze does not obscure the eyes Staring at me, one eye closed, one eye open; devoted Grey metal pipes, exacting in their common goal, Soon to erupt in justice, to carry out a sentence passed. The sand below my feet is almost as dry as my mouth I hum a song not yet written, composing songs never to be heard I do not smoke, and no one has anything for me to chew Except gall, and memories, and dust. No one really knows me, except by what they have read And as one would expect, most of it is lies, anyway. And that is why my thoughts remain devoid Of comprehension, or pity; and for the men poised before me, not even hate. I know that without even seeing, that the landscape behind Is crated with ultra-sonic peepholes That once missed the point, perhaps even a reprimand. And do I care? It is not obvious, but somehow I do. My hands are tied to a cheese-hole tree, knotted Which may scream along with me, if indeed I do. I have been quick in my time, and I shall soon be dead And does it matter? No one speaks, and all thoughts are cut off by silence. I do want it all to end, and also I do not For life, whilst my example has shown otherwise, is precious To me, to you, and even while obeying orders, to them Gazing with intent over iron and wood and sweating hands... Staring, focussing, At the paper heart on my chest, Red, and beckoning, And sad.