a pale imitation of many lives
not comfortable
in his own skin
not clearly apparent whose skin
he would be comfortable in
wasn’t happy, wasn’t sad
wasn’t much of anything really
never was never will be
not even a has-been for
you have to have been
to be a has-been
just took up space
never found his voice
a life of laryngitis
off the air
no signal, no transmission
shuffled about head down
death does not frighten him
where’s a heart attack
when you need one
laying in obscurity
the nice thing about obscurity is
you don’t have a do anything
to achieve it
