Eater of Souls
Paralysed monolith, ripped steel and glass,
Cadaverous, crumbling, concrete flesh,
Chicken coop shrine of the health care gods,
Polish and spit and torn wire mesh.
A sweet stink of parazone and iodine
Floods the arterial clogged corridors,
Coffers empty as G-Grade skulls,
Rubberised soles slap the cracked plastic floors.
Eat ‘em up hearty and spit ‘em out hale,
Line ‘em like ninepins on trolleys for hours,
And should one or two die during the wait
The internal market sells funeral flowers.
By the hypnotic strobe of a digital sphig
And the techno of cardiac monitor beeps,
The faint song of failure inaudibly hums,
Idealism, hydra-like, bows down and weeps.
Bankrupt ideologies drive the whole show,
Facelessly grinning like Cheshire cats,
Compartmentally shut down a section or two,
Blow budgets on blow-jobs and beaurocrats.
Their expectations of more and more grows
From a workforce aging and watching the door,
Vocation, devotion, the play upon guilt
Is a subterfuge ceasing to wash anymore.
The eater of souls raised from sixties dreams
Creaks and leaks brains and essential oil,
Thunders and blunders, coughs up a lung
And buries it’s face in the graveyard soil.
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