we dangle from a single thread
pendulous from the bars
on the upswing to the hot plates
on the down
to the soft shrapnel of coal
if you’re lucky some doctor with halitosis
will tell you the time you have left
if you’re neither lucky nor unlucky then
your lights will go out in some confectionary aisle
if you’re like me
then you’ll keep going
until even the bed covers can’t stand to touch you
& the moonlight rippling against the sea
makes you want to fill
your lungs with carrot-thick vomit.
