By Catherine Davies
Small state, skeleton state,
flesh slashed from limbs,
the ligaments and tendons
starved to the bones,
the debt suddenly exposed.
There is no shelter
in its ribs for the homeless,
every day, the vulnerable
look deep in its eye sockets
for a pulsing heart.
It stands proud still,
but unable to support
anything but is own weight.
As if from the ground,
the ghosts of capitalism
are emerging.
They rise up, loom ahead
like an uncertain blackness
on the horizon.
Small state, skeleton state,
blood drying on the grass
after the storm.