Photosynthetic void—walls bereft of chroma,
No photon cascade, no serotonin spectra.
A chamber of entropy,
Where mitosis mourns in monochrome.
Chrono-displacement:
We arrived at 8:20,
But spacetime dilated—
A tachyon chase beneath scalpel orbit.
Dual patient states—pre-op/post-op—
Entangled in Schrödinger’s queue,
Their vitals suspended
In probabilistic purgatory.
The medic? A quantum migrant.
From outpost to outpost,
Clinic to cloud,
A baryon of ambition, unbound by Hippocratic gravity.
Washroom:
A microbial biome of neglect.
Fee:
A kilojoule transaction for placebo empathy.
This isn’t care.
It’s thermodynamic collapse
In a coat of sterilized prestige.
He holds the scalpel,
Yet forgets:
The heart is not a ledger.
And time is not his to hoard.
This poem critiques the mechanization of care in clinical spaces, where time dilates, empathy collapses, and patients become quantum states suspended in bureaucratic purgatory. It blends scientific imagery with emotional truth, challenging the illusion of prestige in systems that forget the human heart. Inspired by real-world medical encounters, it is both protest and elegy.
