Zero

consumed by the quiet. soft numbers too close together. the sequence expands. multiplying and dividing. until all integers are captured. the delicate of the addition. coaxes her sympathy for the sickness. the flagrant of the subtraction burdens with suspicion. that the cure is only a gentler incarnation of the virus.

the moment lives and dies by these repeating patterns. One. Twelve. Seven. Four. The sequence confounds. Beginnings obese with ends. Flesh is numbers. Touch is algebra. I confess that I can't solve.

stranded on the bridge. testing those devils. as their claws attempt the math.

choices. like wet paper. drowning in words i can't make out.

limbless dolls. Naked and all too patient. Spoil their plastic skins defining zero. in the only way that they can.

By the shiver of a cigarette as it illuminates an empty bedroom. where strangers fitfully sleep. In an epiphany of zeroes. molesting dolls in numbers that remain.