METHODS

 

There is no emancipation

in the stride off the chair,

noose cinched about the neck;

nor the bullet, with its instantaneous hammer.

The exhaust pipe induces unpleasant cough,

and wrists—veiny plains for melancholic settlers—

are too compressible a crop,

the red flow waning on pressed, anemic flesh.

 

             To jump and hit cement—

             in this, real freedom. The plunge,

             a dive towards a bottoming,

             and the freefall, a moment in suspension,

             and the bliss of stepping off,

             before the consequence;

             no swallowing of gunmetal shaft,

             no deliberation of knots.

             Only the urge of footsteps.

             Then air.

Shane Neilson, a writer from New Brunswick, has an alter ego named Burt. Burt steals from Shane, sometimes.

Dance to Death, Issue VIII

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.