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.​