One casts about for reasons why his mind exhibits signs
Of rigor mortis. Is he truly dead? Emotions have evaporated.
All the world passes by, unsought, unnoticed. His synapses
Seem to have retreated, broken bureaucrats, into the cubicles
To which some oligopolist has said they must return. There's
Nothing here. There's nothing there. The flimsy curtain
Separating death from life blows off of him, and, if he lives,
He fails to see why he should celebrate.