A poem by Nathaniel Wilder

The blood-stained cloth of the waiting roomWhere I was visited by steel hummingbirdsFeasting on declawed beasts who still may bite one dayIf given the chance to break past the chipped mint paint But we are stored on the third floorAnd the estuaries that flow into us supply our thirstFor what is sketched for us beyond the glassWe hear the clicking of our metallic golemsTracing the halls beside usAs we watchCranes swaying rebar over the mission infusion clinic Featured image (modified) CC0: Foundry