I sit at my window and look out at the
snowflakes; they fall vertically, horizontally under
the grey black sky. I watch the dog break open the
bone and lick the marrow out. I watch the
big white cat sleep, snore, maybe dreaming of
a fat sparrow in his mouth. I think of taking
a bite of the sunset, living in a cave; the way
a marimba sounds when I’m haunted,
how Hamsun took bites of his hand in hunger.
My mind drifts to Van Gogh’s potato eaters,
the ***** that rejected his ear, Lautrec’s withered
legs and beautiful heart. I think of the falcon in
the city, the stranger in the mirror, the brutality
of man and the wonder in the doe’s eyes.
Anything but algebra, I took the compass test for
college, 99% in writing, 96%.in reading and 17% in math.
I have to retake the math and score a 25% or better.
I despise math, my girlfriend says, “You love math, it
gets you loans and grants.”
My brain bleeds with numbers and equations,
but she’s right,
I like loans and grants.
So I’m back at it, like a kid to
the dentist, and math does its job,
it pushes me back to
the word, the line, my dirt road
through the madness.
