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?