Wednesday 4/28/2010 12:22:00 AM

Her flesh waiting on the multiplication in his fingers. Numbers will stray, but always come back to their sources. Blind ghosts straddling perception and sense. Incessantly calculating the value. Of every breath and each trembling shadow.

The preposterous servitude of scent. Discovering slaves in the the deepest trenches of men.

She coaxes the math. In obedient fractions. and rebellious decimals. Numbers make sense. It's their results that I dispute. Come with me. Find our neverland she says. I am small now. And this world is gigantic.

We're all small. And large. Depending upon the distance. More numbers I cannot convince. Some things cannot be measured.

Husks left behind after the meat has been harvested. A stubborn hunger proliferated solely by the quest to feed it.

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