Pass-By
Pass-By I am called the solemnic Pass-By, A slippery, cylindric alibi. Shadowed figure on the hillside; still, I Dip into life and am left behind. You go on together, but I only pass by. Not built to last; I pass by Only walking where I'm seen; see, I Talk just to be heard, and so my Skin is seemehearme; and inside, The big empty left behind is Pass-By. While everyone else is doing the Act, I am leaving The Act; I am hovering above the stage; in fact, I am solid in form, but my gray-fog soul is air-tight. Still, erudite; I say what I mean, but, wisp-like, There’s nothing left but unseeming. O, toilet-paper roll of a Pass-By! Rattle on past, empty insides. Never-partaking, wall bottlefly, What will fill you? What can satisfy This meaningless, ceilingless Pass-By?