At dusk
By

    Two blocks from my bed
    a hospital is becoming a sleek
    pile of condos.

    Spindling up an endless crane,
    small christmas lights
    glow against the rusted metal,
    dotting twelve stories
    with pale, fluorescent stars,

    stars that grow more brilliant
    each moment the
    sky blackens and burns.

    Aestheticizing – making
    a place where crying children
    and wrinkled men go to die
    into a place where
    crying children and wrinkled men
    go to live

    and sleep
    and eat.

    Sometimes I remember that
    it is someone’s job to cake
    baby blue eyeshadow onto
    the eyelids of a carcass.

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