Standing in a box,
A small square space
With a corrupted, contorted face.
Hundreds by thousands crawl through this place
Emaciated by the disgrace of their race.
An institution of meaningless sustenance to some
Produce, dairy, deli organized in one,
A bum’s dream of heaven all in circular runs
All an illusion only apparent to one.
An asylum of treachery I see
All irony only apparent to me.
Feeding off other species entities
Collecting and hording all other societies
In excuses of words we call groceries
Where we purchase to fuel false identities.