BRYAN ARNESON EUTHANASIA Sprawling across the couch knowing what will be on next and what station it will be on. Reflexively changing channels, navigating the static by habit, to occupy eyes that no longer care. And knowing something is rotting before smelling the leftover takeout laying across the barren tabletop. Strangling ears under headphones and looking out windows like ten dollar magic eye puzzles. Being a polite efficient number, standing still but not too attentive, to be counted with all the others. It’s being part of a larger whole then dying and falling to the carpet, dust, like every other dead cell.
________________________________________________________________ SPRING 2007 • 7