An early work by the neo-progessive Icke, this comes from his short collection "Experiments in Shape." All these "musings" were untitled and so this has has been labeled 47b or a "Tender Life" by various editors.
Tender life, horrid cage, the saw chips wreak under paw,
Your life, poor creature, an endless wasteland of needles,
Acids and bases become salt on your wounds.
You are the holocaust to corporate greed.
The play thing of our science.
Voiceless and pitiable.