It is as easy as triple chunk
chocolate pudding, ice cream
cake with three inches of frosting,
dripping onto dinner party platter;
or for a one-inch-by-one-inch piece, 254
grams- what a dreaded word
that has become, and don't forget
about real-time Mellitus-- just double.
508. Double it all! What a number!
Well,
who knows... computers do crunching.
Though, I know everything
divisible by 15. 34. Well. 33.86. Whole..
At 12, I missed myself,
as do most,
but mirrors weren't kind,
and every morning's time
retreated directly to
the machine in my palm.
Like a needle gun.
Like a portable, personal
pace-setting windowsill. Imaginary
my surprise that I'd become binary.
Half unused machine, half dilapidated tongue
quarter juice boxed remedy, three quarter
time. What malingering is there to do
under a vast bananmath tree? Shade,
that is to say the dark creeping
into light, simply doesn't create
these feelings of neglect, like unknown numbers.
Tiptoeing through dark hallways makes
you realize absence of light and not
a release into darkness. The light bulb still
flicker, innocent in cremation plans,
eyes contract, they're breathing for your
shadowy discontented ones and zeros,
because this hallway extends long
passed the bedroom and number goblins.
It is only natural with so much time
stuck in heated glass jars sticky with dough,
Nature would speak to me
as my feet tread on soil, lightly
returned from a reflection in numeric principle.
It is only natural that this plan
is not a plan at all, but discrete understanding
of informed worship.
It is constant, the question. I ask it every day now. 15 times, or 1.5 times. I hope that you have located a sureness that I have never had.