Guaranteed to contain at least 30% homo sapiens sapiens
It’s a tough process, going through the meat grinder,
The packing plant, sandstorms of industrial media,
Blowing and tearing at exposed flesh and thought.
Or just another ugly fluorescent warehouse slaughterhouse bulb?
Hints of bleach ripe ammonia hang in the air
Between endless rows, towering shelves of purchasable products
Stretching on and on for forty years,
The biblical desert distance at least.
Lights flash and blind and strobe by
Masturbate to the holy dollar!
Offer it years and surgeries and retirement plans!
If you qualify at the end of your lifetime
You’re eligible for a slow and protracted death
Hooked up to respirators, catheters and colostomy bags
In the palliative care unit of the closest hospital to the burial grounds.
Just down the shivering streets
Freaks pull sense from piles of pills,
Geriatrics don tinfoil helmets from outdated books and bloody magazines.
Butchers sharpen their knives and polish their hands
Where they cup the tiny, huddled masses,
Sweating, suffering, fornicating, expiring in this civilization’s suffocating grip.
No war was declared but the casualties are mounting.
Sweet teenage girls fill up their soft veins with winter
To freeze the suicide memories of their sisters’ dead bodies
Hanging always behind every closet door,
Popping up every time they close their eyes.
Robins fall from the sky, brought down by grief soaked feathers,
End up crawling blindly through the cold mud
With horny, hungry worms,
Pumped full of Dexedrine, ketamine, Thorazine & benzodiazepines.
Tiny twigs to repair her frail nest and failing dams,
Pure survival instinct trying to hold back the agonizingly inevitable
Deadly flood of emotions, feelings, and reality.