* * *
the man whose life i live is winding down
still sprightly on his best viagra days
but mostly on a steady downhill path
when he steps out to get his daily bout
of liquor I lurk within and mark his gait
wavering to where he thinks he should be bound
spending his finite sum total of steps
to the pub and likewise back
cursing some god

god is the evil guy
who made the entire mess out of sheer naught
and is now dead except that there’s much less
naught than there was before god and much more mess
god is our common ancestor the doornail
or maybe he’s just out for the duration
to grab some booze and smokes in a cosmic sense

back to the case as stated at the outset
back from the brink with the abandoned satyr
orpheus orphaned in a freudian way
the man whose thinking microchip i am
the doornail whose inner chamber i inhabit
the universe or worse that i still haunt
is folding down many becoming one
hardly much point to miss him when he’s gone