Heroes and Villains: Day 17

Zorak 

A prison made of keys
and free jazz, on a ghost
planet. It’s come to this:
forced laughs at jokes
of a man you tried to kill
back in the sixties. Irony
has died here, but insincerity
is like the air, thin
and recycled. So much
sharp, all chitin and
disrespectful angles. No one
believes your hands
are at prayer. You must be
rubbing them, hungry
for the next course of evil.
Must be imagining the moment
after smashing a bug
smaller than you.