Grey woolen wire pointed south static,
bobbing on the nod,
Ribbon Sikh pink turban sedated, slowly
slowly.
TV tranquillized. Buried within a
greasy
Couch where commercials flicker out.
I don't pace about … narrow corridors
starling light.
Inward twist, dependent upon sedatives.
One turns a blind eye, as always.
Not an ego alive, this is not the time
or place.
Coffee, Zopiclone metallic linger
today,
Sound as a bell.
Rendered clones. Occupying staff work
through the night.
Humid, flatulence, petulance..a nurse
gets her tooth knocked out.
They've tasted Hell.
Sweating men stale smoke trails them.
Another Day.
And yet We Are All Committed in various
ways.
Compassion. Bureaucracy. Retching.
Laughter.
I like those tiny paper cups too … so
elegant.
An elegant visceral poem....
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