When I went out to hang myself
by Timothy Pilgrim

I found laundry filled the line. Removed
black panties in frantic dance, pirate flags

spanking sky above a rigid plank —
just enough space for head, throat.

Pinned them flimsily to a graying rope.
Held brief sway over wicker baskets

of adjectives and rank complaints
against a miasmatic world.

On my descent, a passing t-shirt read,
Life smells fresh as fabric softener.

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