The speaker looks at an aging body and wonders what it amounts to in a world run on records and permissions. The opening lines play on the idea of a grave: the body isn't headed for one, because no grave has "issued us visas," as if death were a border we need papers to cross. From there the poem leans into bureaucratic language. The speaker is a "law-abiding citizen," so the law becomes a kind of home, and the body gains legal "standing."
But that standing comes at a cost. The body grows "more and more abstract," reduced to a list of taxes, insurance, vaccinations, passwords, and authentication codes. The tone is dry and wry, with a tired humor underneath.
The last couplet turns the mood. "Bound for glory" echoes the old hope of a spiritual reward, and the speaker asks whether that's where this body is headed. Then comes the plain, almost comic request: "i could use a ride." It's weary, honest, and a little vulnerable, a wish for some real passage beyond all the paperwork.