The typical Corporate Chicken Sheds

A sea of writhing feathers
great clouds of obnoxious smell
ammonia cuts into, one’s being
and drives you into hell
you go and come back
remembering
the evil that you saw
when you left daylight behind
and opened the great door

the noise the clattering chattering
the chaotic and violent sound
of thousands and thousands of victims
all stuck there on the ground
clucking ducking bucking
in what is a vast melee
of bodies many threadbare
and bloodied awfully

the pecking order prevalent
corpses everywhere
already half scoffed by maggots
into instant despair
walking around and seeing
your heart goes out for those
who would normally peck in a grassy field
with slugs between their toes

and here its vile,bits of birds
scattered here and there
feathers excrement and urine
crap just everywhere
to live in this confusion
this evil that is there
it must drive these birds crazy
and the vileness of the air

I felt, absolutely sick
then someone reminded me
that if I’d had a bloody wound
possibly on my knee
attack much worse than piranha
that is a sobering thought
when you in the back of a chicken shed
to be well and truly caught

by a bunch of raging chickens
pecking you to death
in ammonia thick atmosphere
already your burning breath
has made it hard to walk in fact
you want to vomit so
and when you get out you gasp aloud
and suck in some air
and know

you are back out in the daylight
my god you feel relieved
to go in there in the first place
you feel as though your were deceived
its the most awful place imaginable
its all bedlam, in there
a seething writhing shambles
where you can cut the air
with a knife its almost coloured
a green expanse of vile
a constant rabid ruction
I couldn’t reconcile

Inside these sentient creatures
are monsters in the making
they’ve gone through the nervous
mad stage
and now their hearts are breaking
their brains have gone to zombie stage
they don’t know what they do
they eat each other
they squawk aloud
and of course they will peck you

vast corporate agendas
margins cut and dry
its all about shareholders
whether chickens die
no one cares one iota
its money, thats the force
and all these chickens
suffer their whole short lives
of course
and have to live in dreadful
circumstances to ensure
that corporate margins are maintained
right across the floor