Worry

Portions of the whole. On a scale made of when. Counting still made sense. In the fluidity of neurons. Combustion. Gentle explosions. Testing the density. Of flesh.

The mind with its roads. Too many to decipher. Torn maps leading to treasures long ago dug up. Time is a coward. More vanity than substance. Red wagons and soiled dolls drug too far. The earth chasing us in stilted coughs. Choking. Like a weak virus that is still stronger than I am.

The numbers come like a profound religion. Everything is counted.

The wolves in the centrifuge. Calmly howling. While our blood is separated.

Brick walls and bacon. All that's left to save us.