The Surplus
The bird of bitter frost flew through the air,
hospital windows open, airing night closed
room of human odour. Icy talons through
fragile bodies, two patients died at dawn;
they said it was heart attack. I think it was
lack of love, bird of frost only flies when
the sick are lonely, its senses they are of no
further use. Lament and fill out forms and
tell relatives the usual lies:” the patient had
a peaceful death.” got to a good bar alcohol
reunites soul and body; then fuck your heart
out, tomorrow is another rotten day when
doctors and nurses try not to be drawn into
indifference by the burden of their human
incompetence.
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