I see dying people on dying sidewalks.
Dying gulls hover by an ambulance full of dying heroes which save you from sooner dying. The ambulance goes past a funeral home where the dying attend to the dead.
I've passed through this sidewalk before, when I and the world were a little less rotten. I've seen the familiar parked mail truck which has a woman inside usually playing scrabble. She's solved more puzzles, and earned less time.

Did you know it costs money to die? Suicide is illegal, the government has decreed you need to earn your own right to die. You need to die in some accident or from disease or ailment or getting too old. You're serving in a conquest against dying yet either way you'll lose!

I realize as I pass a law firm beside a curiosity shop that my soul is losing its light to power our electricity. My eyes are losing their ability just to watch violence on the news,
My hair will soon be snow.
Im getting sleepier earlier, I'm getting older quicker.
The last thing I wanna do is sleep!
I don't want to weep,
I don't want to be reaped.
My faith is lazy,
My heart is crazy,
Padded up in loveless institutions.
Going to the city makes me feel lonely.
There's one wrinkling man I see here every day, he's wearing a big white sweater, bald spot haloes his skull.
Will I be him one day?
Is he an angel of prophecy?
He writes illegible notes on lined paper from an organized folder in his satchel. I have a satchel, it looks just like his. He is my outcome and my shadow. He is my prayer and my nightmare. He is wise and he is lost, I can tell by his face, his frown, his scowl.

He is dying, more than me.
Maybe thats what his notes are about.
I know mine are.
Despite all these years his weight
Remains the same.
I suppose mine will too.