counting

MATHEMATICAL PREACHER LADY

don’t understand me
no numeral of quantity
preacher lady looking
at accusations in a book
saying infinity is proof
of a mathematical sacrifice
that saved humanity
if only we could get back
to three and then zero
says quantum physics
is why we have clocks
and space shuttles
slipping through cracks
in the fabrics of blankets
claims blankets are white
masses, says I’m mass
the tree is mass, birds
are mass and a mass
is a spot that breaks
into a speck so small
my car is invisible to god
claims i don’t pray right
because i do it with my
hands and my speech
is imperfect, can’t talk
to god with a slur or slang
says i need to be prized
and perfect like a precious
moment figurine, demands
i stop calling him home boy
he’s not your boy, throws
a piece paper at me with
nothing on it but a squiggle
in the middle of a circle,
claims it represent life
and who i used to be
when i had a brain
and understood counting
was invented for more
than money, need to crunch
the numbers to understand
my sister is the same as me
though she died in a hospital,
tells me i’m better than nobody
but I act like a stranger hiding
my divinity code under a hat

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is what genuis looks like in a poem!

Don't count the flowers..

in the darkest of hours, we count the flowers..

we blink our eyes, & in countless seconds, they wither & die..

even the fragrance slips away.. the petals dry out, & make that sad crunchy sound.. 

did someone forget to change the water in the vase..?

maybe they never should of been put into a bouqet.. 

 

scatter the remains across a green field, you get down & kneel..

looking off into the horizon, you pray.. 

God why, why couldn't they of been saved...? 

collapse into the grass, take a deep breath, at last..

your hands graze over the dead flowers, & clovers.. 

looking into the bleak sky, those eyes had nothing left to give..

so just cry.. this is the life you've lived.

no rain.. only clouds..

no light.. just that painful sound..

the wind caressing limp petals off the ground, to somewhere they can have inner peace.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2.20.13

Who's There?

I heard a knock at the door today

But I didn't open up.

I just laid on the floor

And counted the tiles on the ceiling.