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.