I am a stranger in a white tiled room

there is a bed and a chair and a shelf

And a brain, mottled and bruised, grooved

but still and filled with formaldehyde, where

resistance is cushioned, leather straps

leave no survivors but the deluded while

Nurse Ratched runs her slaughterhouse

and raises headless, blind chickens

with their meat full of pesticides

And me.