Coyly covered by a virginal
sheet--that electroshock mindfuck
machine on wheels.
 Rolled right to you.
Pizza delivery techno
in the mental death ward.

Other lights zapped, one by one, 
until it's your go round at the party.

Forgotten memories fill the room,
crash through closed windows
in their haste to escape,
Your own visions vaporize of an ashen man
sprawled on his suicide bed, 
leftover pill tumbled around him,
that note bequeathing you
his shelf full of books still curled
in the crotch of his battered Royal.

Pris Campbell
Revision 2014

Art: Distant Shores of Being by Dallas Bromley
     copyrighted and used with permission



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