I think there’s never enough time for a single man,
His life sparks, wire-like he shudders,
His tiny eyes memories fade,
Why not split into three tragic men?
Each will have mere seconds
On a pitched stage, his own show.
As a blue curtain lifts (no sound)
One has trouble with his legs,
One has problems with his heart.
“The idea,” says the third, “is to sit
In the audience, smack-middle,
Solo but safe in the herd.”
It’s an old joke in the theater—
Looking out, seeing an empty seat,
Actor one whispers to number two:
“Oh look, there’s a dead subscriber.”