The dying man

Didn’t care about

The outward terror

Of his time

This pervasive sense

Of hopelessness like

Chipping away at a million-dollar debt

With paychecks of nickel and dime

No, his mind,

Most likely lost

In some memory,

Seeks a sign

Or a hand

On his shoulder

Straightening him out

So he can walk a line

But any warmth

In his bed

Is just lingering heat

Of a body he won’t see again

And there’s no lover

Behind some numbered door

Worried and waiting

To ask where he’s been

So the indifference

Of the ages

Finds him

And will just the same

Standing up triumphantly

before immediately

Lying back down in defeat,

Naked and neutral as he came

Naked and neutral

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