He lays there in white,
drowned in earth,
a lasting mark to the coldness of people.
What a strong contrast
to the bright twinkling lights
of the city
and its crowds romping to
loud, hot jazz.
And nobody sees
that the man in white
is gone – they’ve
moved on.

I stick the old
crumbling paperback
on the shelf.
The cover is discolored –
the book handled by
many careless students before –
told to read it,
then skimming it, stuffing it,
before going back to the
laughing, drinking, smoking
and loving.

While I sit atop my “castle,”
my eyes wet blurring out the
city lights
everything in my grasp for now
except someone to care for