#414: Machine

The bank of instruments and gauges glows
with green, unearthly light; the metal ticks
with heat. Somewhere an ancient mainspring clicks
its coiled potential down, while rows and rows

of switches wait. On each a cryptic rune
is carved (its function? maybe some dead name
important to its maker? All the same,
since none can read them now). Outside the moon

shines blue and cold, and there, at these controls,
a madman sits--brains addled by the tides,
his senseless eyes as red and hot as coals--
with power enough to split the world in two
before him. Elbows tight against his sides,
his fingers itch to see what she can do.
_