Tomorrow
On a table was a drink whose ice cubes were a distant
Memory
On a counter were empty pill containers
The body sat in a chair like he was expecting company
Except that his tee-shirt which was usually loose
Was tight on his torso
A syringe stood straight out between his toes
The coroner who'd been called
Stated that the body had been out of rigor for some time
A fan was running to air out the room
But there was no whistling of the wind in his ear
The two who were there were making little clicking sounds
With their tongues
And shaking their heads back and forth
He was no Rich Cory
They looked for a note that wasn't there
He'd left no rhyme, he'd long pasted reason
There'd been no 12 steps
Just the last leap
He had no tomorrow's left