Para suicide
He waits all day with the noose around his neck
both feet back on the chair cliff,
each chest movement feels the weight of his one wish.
He imagines them, their bacon fat faces curling at the sight of his soul
anaemic and lumpy as ready break
smear coating the lino.
The things, loop like rice dancing,
he imagines insurance people filling forms in,
the spy hole coffin he requested, disintegrating.
He thinks of the mud as an extended landing
with all the light bulbs broken.
He is unprepared for the thud
of the chair cliff corroding,
the rice loops scattering, the plugs all ringing,
his head bottle pop sucking out the socket.
