Everything that matters resides in frayed pockets.
Society bears them, weighing heavy in various attire.
Some have a surplus, others find them scarce.
Many men hold styrofoam cups pleading bystanders if they can donate something that matters.
Many men out in dumpsters, frantic in finding anything that matters.
Busy streets have bumping shoulders, causing things that matter to scatter the walk.
Ears perk, sensing something that matters fell somewhat nearby.
Shaggy bearded males sprint towards the clinking.
Desperate to uncover a silver or bronze darling.
Most men have ties that drape from their necks clutching egotistical briefcases.
Most men are handed what matters, so their frail attention rests on what's unnecessary.
And what's unnecessary consumes their entire fleshy tissue.
Until they are situated with the insects, beneath headstones filled with achievements.