print previewback DAVID CAMPOS
Malware
I drank so damn much I left my shadow
wavering across the cool pool’s bottom.
The chlorine threw pity onto our skins.
The BBQ had burnt and we grimaced
at each other; we simmered with silent
shame of the things our parents did for us.
Our swim trunks wet and drunk with fantasy—
the extravagance of other people’s
misery; did you forget your mother
plucked the feathers off chickens? Remember
the butchered smell of dissection? Cheers me.
I did this. Is this what whiteness feels like?
Pour me another drink. I deserve this . . .
The system has been corrupted. Reboot. 
Malware
The Singularity Keeps to Himself