In his cage

Awe at the saw of claws.
Rip, and flip of jawed metal.
Up, down, round and wound,
reaching, screeching!
Raw with cuts.
Kicking, sticking it's beak-
on bars of rock and brush.
Eyes full of Lies,
if it be the eyes of it's Captor;
Searching, lurching ever after,
the clatter-
of wings,
how it sings.
These things aren't wings,
they're his laughter.
This soul never blinks,
it will jinx,
his title as master.