The energy flows through me and I don’t even look.

[but I just did]

I’m sorry. But I’m not.

I let the energy flow…flow and flow.

Along an ellipsis of my heart. The shape of my heart. You know…

Ah, and a sigh…with counting. No more counting. This doesn’t count. I’m not doing it right. So I count. I count the numbers because they are my friends. The numbers without names or words.




My friends are in lists. In categories.

I subcategorize love.

And assign it numbers. And faces to names and numbers in their slots.

At twilight I don’t think. I turn off the brain numbers and they swim through a sea of stardust in my head. No longer a brain. No longer a heart. No longer a soul. No longer the barrier between it all.

It will stay awhile if no numbers and no faces appear. I can be awash.

If I want to be and then I fall in love with myself.

And a number appears at the door and I can love him as a 7 or as a 9–in their Prime.

Wrestling their problems in my bed for the solutions not from my head.

Pounding away the thoughts.

Groping at my instincts.

Humping my habits.

Fucking away the theorems.

My bedtime body math has no laws.

How I await that magic. The wizardry of his soul on my brain. Making impotent my thoughts. With the wave of his magic wand.

And he doesn’t even exist.

Outside of the numbers in my set.

About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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