where somebody lives

not someone known.

just somebody.

no name no face no

obligations or criminal

record.

the somebody who is no one

in particular. to call him stranger

is too closely affiliated with somebody

who has weight and occupies space.

just “somebody”

who lives someplace.

a pinprick of a living

person living someplace

on this Earth.

never to be known

but for the few who do.

a whole life will be there.

an unknown life to most.

fulfilled, maybe. who knows.

a wretched old geezer.

who knows.

an ordinary person who

went to school

learned his lessons.

worked hard at his job.

but hasn’t died yet.

I’m thinking of that guy.

my friend in the ozone

in the clouds, the marrow

in the clutches of sweet

anonymity.

that’s the somebody.

the real, tactile everybody

who is not seen nor heard.

but it’s not me.

it’s, well, you don’t know who.