Meanwhile in a Parallel

He couldn't quite believe what his days have come to When he glanced back at the desert and the dead flies in Milan And the way they crease like sofas crease like clowns He was a giant with the world above But it all came crashing down, crashing down Crashing down Crashing down Now he jet sets in an atlas, taking notes, refers to Good Old Days Looks down at a bug and whispers that old idiom for past times' sake Walking like a cowboy but his horse is comatose He and that horse, like bad and worse, are not so different, I suppose And all at once, he flips the table And he sends his pages flying And it occurs to him he gets The goldest-est for dying Meanwhile in a parallel Meanwhile in a parallel Meanwhile in a parallel He deliberates the hasn't been And he too sits, makes notes, they're all Pertaining to himself and how the Opposite of living isn't death, it is existing He almost grieves the loss of absence That would've followed his persisting In perpetual engagements With a joke that left him laugh less Bereft of any buoyancy Terminating thereafter Meanwhile in a parallel Meanwhile in a parallel Meanwhile in a parallel Meanwhile in a parallel