Faceless magisterium

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Bound to the biannual judgment rite—

Like a moon howling at wolves,

Or better yet:

A spectacle in the corporate Colosseum,

Flayed beneath fluorescent light.


What is a 360 review but a euphemism 

For a faceless, nameless magisterium?

A wide-awake vivisection—

Sanctioned, shut-eyed,

By scalpels sheathed in “KPIs”.


Rotated full-circle over appraisal’s coals.

My flesh charred in bureaucrat’s fire—

Each burn a dark blessing:

Stripping.

Refining.

Dissolving all human residue—


Until I’m bleached-white polite,

Docile and compliant,

Palatable enough 

for consumption.



My essence reduced to a single metric:

Meaning, digitised and disfigured.  

A jester trembles in the Audit arena,

Eyes pleading: 

Save me — blood-money scorches the soul.


Emerging mauled, I adjust my Windsor knot,

Crimson seeping through pressed cotton.

I don a pair of servile eyes

And offer praise in the cannibal's cave.


Or rather —

I murmur “Thank you"

To the super-vulture, 

silver-tongued and smiling.

"I value your constructive feedback and rating."



(Might a crumb of dignity linger, buried somewhere deeper?)

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