skyscraper

There’s something about sitting 12 stories in the sky-
amongst the clouds and god,
watching the insects scurry around
in their suits and agendas-
which, by the way, cannot be compromised
by anything short of a dead body on the sidewalk-
And even then
only for a moment
All these skyscrapers will one day be mausoleums
Great towering tombs
for the hoarders and wasters
I know I will not be missed when I’m gone.
At least not in a way one would hope-
A great gathering of people using my corpse as a channel
for their shortage of attention.
But what the fuck-
It’s too late when you have a foot over the edge
and momentum on your shoulders.
Nothing left but to enjoy the ride down.
One last moment of solitude