triage past the clock ticks on, punctuated by off beat concave breaths, deep cries, and an instinctual anxiety; quiet fidgeting and worried glances. the sterile smell of the place contrasted with the sickly noises, the bruises, the breaks. the clock ticks on as we accept that in the inconvenience that yes it is still a superior division of resources: to each according to their need. but there's power in the assessment of that need, held by the assessor in those fleeting moments. what if the symptoms have quieted to a momentary release, as they're wont to do. are we being too honest? too modest? how to speak for those without a voice who seem fine in this instance? is the description legible? the clock ticks on. 220316 what's it to you? who go blather from