But One Day Even the Emperor May Live and Let Live

Both aesthetically
And pragmatically,
It’s an odd hybrid
Of hyggish homely
And sternly sterile,

This window-facing,
Comfy recliner
With woolly blanket
In this stark white room
In which you’re infused

With the patented
Chemicals all hope
Will delay your death
From self-consumption
By fast-evolving

Renegades at large.
The hope’s as hybrid
As the room’s setting,
Hitching broad-spectrum,
Shotgun strategies

To an acribic
Ideal: catch them all;
Line them all against
The wall. Let no cell
Survive isn’t you.