Under the Cold Light

The market’s white glare interrogates everything,
turning life into measurable parts.
QR codes, discount tags and plastic hooks
process death like a standardized workflow.

Neat chicken feet, solitary fish heads,
organs rearranged into order
become an allegory of systems
where individuals can only be split, named and archived.

Meat hangs in plain sight; people hang in the shadows.
Some are hooked by time, others by the cost of survival.

“Fresh” is only reality with its skin removed in advance.