Nuclear

I Sunday visit to underground rooms
To view atrocity that wasn’t there
I sit hypnotic fixed by furnace swells
The silent immolation of the air
I walk reverent, disturbed
In the ceasing, deadened atmosphere
Pamphlets to pacify, videos in vain
Displayed in decommissioned disrepair
I Sunday paper read about a man
He soldier told that tests would cause no harm
Saying that he witness felt ‘unearthed’
Speaking of men translucent and disarmed
I Sunday child in corner of church hall
Sit solitary in windowseat and hold
Encyclopedias, chance to read at c
Of skin dissolved, blind white and molten bones
The afterimage lives behind my eyes
Sensing the sear of unimagined heat
I can’t imagine what I can’t endure
I glance against the chaos and retreat