He died that night
In a cheap motel
In Maryville Tennessee
$35.00 karma mixed with
The smell of curry
Coming from the front office
No one would ever understand
Why he chose to die there
Especially those few
Who claimed to know him well
The gravel parking lot
The towels you could see through
And the lawn chairs inside
For furniture
Made the connection and the
Endless search real
In a way it hadn’t been before
As he sat outside his room
Thinking about the end
The local construction workers
Remembered his name
As they called out to him
At the end of their day
Marking time by a weekly rate
In their rooms just down the hall
They remembered the little things
His own family had forgotten  
Or not so little…

           AND THEN HE DIED
       IN HIS $35.00 MOTEL ROOM

    HIS PASSING A BURIED MEMORY
  AND HEADSTONE FOREVER BLANK

(Newport Tennessee: April, 2013)