last night he broke both his kneecaps
with the wristwatch-alarm he’d strapped to his head.
then he strangled both his eyes
with the cord that gave his virtual-self life.
this morning he dipped them,
dangling from his face,
into the puddle of a bleeding-out ink cartridge
and rolled them across a used piece of lined paper.
in the bath he swallowed the showerhead
in the hope that it might hydrate him
and put the toothpaste in his ears
so he could listen without the need to lip-read.
then he went fishing,
at a public swimming pool without water
and got chlorine-shock
because he forgot to wear sun cream.
that afternoon the oven had a breakdown
because he hadn’t paid the bills.
so he microwaved his feet instead.
Martha said they’d gone cold.