Lobotomite

You’ll smell smoke first—a
sour half-taste that lingers,
iodine, methadone, sulfur, plastic;
a billion-billion kid’s meal toys
fission torched into
iridescent mountains,
made miniscule in
doctored jump-cuts which
maximize forebrain engagement, please
ignore the spasmodic salsa
your fingers will dance, neurons
firing out of time, their jig is
composite art to be, agglomerated
algorithm bait, accompaniment for
the superreal symphonies pouring acid-sick
down your brainstem. Thus you’ll swim,
drown, really: the memories of others,
off-kilter moments frankenstein-stitched
into poisonous perfidy, halogen-light
drillbits whining behind bloodshot eyes,
up, needles through the thinnest part of the skull:

euphoria.
that heavenly herald
of oncoming dissolution

Garrett Speller is an Assistant Professor of writing at Lakeland University Japan, a game designer, and an aspiring author/poet. His creative work has previously been featured in Kyoto Journal, The Bristol Noir, and The Clockwise Cat. Those achievements, however, pale in comparison to the look on his students’ faces when he wore a banana costume to school for Halloween.