The room is half void
and half golden-red glory.
A man lies in the wavering divide,
spread like a lamb for slaughter,
as light slips away, away, away
from the scrabbling fingertips
that run furrows into the carpet.
In the corner, a crimson eye blinks
as message twenty-three records
before fading off into silence.
She is dead, he thinks.
She is dead, she is dead, she-
He tries to stop thinking.
(is dead she is dead she)
Light slips away,