A man died yesterday alone
in a stairwell in a parking garage,
lines of cars of people, alone;
I did not know him,
or if I did I did not know it,
but I know I've been only
the blade-edge of a scalpel away
from him.

None of us are so different after all,
separated by happenchance more
than anything than living, alone;
yet we do not know each other,
or if we do we do not know it,
hidden behind masks of shallow agreement
or avatars of outraged disagreement
that's not real.