our lives are fraught with numbers

so many fractions of a second faster in a race  
most wins on record   best jury votes
highest flight   deepest dive   most goals
meters of rising sea levels
millions of refugees   and more displaced
tens of thousands  honor killings
thousands of deaths with Ebola  
millions of Zika virus victims next year
billions of deficit or profit in import/export
    or the stock exchange
votes in elections    or for beauty queens

polls    tweets   virtual friends  & followers
likes on the social media    on hellopoetry

we have been taught to measure our status
our importance   and the significance of our lives
in clicks of other peoples’ digital devices

even our time has been reduced to numbers
the digital has long replaced the comprehensive
instead of the round dial that shows 12 hours
    suggesting the duration of a normal day
we have a punctual display  without the whole
the cyclical has lost against the linear

0101010101010101010101010101010101
we all look forward to our numbered future
no past  and very little present

our hands on smart phones    homes    TVs
    pushing a button makes things move
    swishing a screen displays the world

over all that we easily forget
that we ourselves have been reduced to numbers
    of customers for businesses
    of voters for the politicians
    of workers for the corporations
    of citizens for our nations
digital quantities we have become

and if we take a global view
we are part of the seven billion plus
that currently inhabit our earth


all of which do expect their individuality
be honored  and their dignity respected

numbers don’t  honor individuality
they simply count the units
items  or people  are for them the same

it’s left to us to find a way
that leaves the numbers in their place
yet guarantees us dignity
as individual members of the human race

Life isnt measured by likes on a post,
Or followers, friends, or tweets.

Life can't be counted by people we meet
Or losses we face.

Life doesnt keep a tally sheet
Marking down our scores.

Life isn't measured by the breaths we take
But it isn't counted by the moments that take our breath away, either

Life can't be drawn out for us, and counted on a graph
It can't be explained or sectioned off into days, months or years

We carve our own paths, and we don't need to count the steps

Because wether you use 0 or 26 letters,
Wether your heart beats 2 or 200 times
We are not numbers, we cannot be counted. We are so much more.

A steady minded person might tell you that everything can be measured, calculated and converted into a language of black and white, solutions worked out with sharpened pencils.

How do I measure my heart breaking?

Tell me,at what rate did my heartstrings snap when he told me he was leaving?
How long until all of my broken bones turn into dust?
Calculate at what speed the tears rolled down my checks.
How many doctors will it take to sew my heart back together?
Was it when he crumpled me up like a wasted idea etched onto a piece of notebook paper that everything started to bleed?
What part of my brain did his gentle hands touch that woke my monsters from their slumber?
How many days until this aching in my swollen chest turns into a gentle throb?
When will I be okay again?

Takes this pain and your sharpened pencils and rip the numbers from the dead hands of his name. Do away with the emotion like he did away with me.

Down on yourself *******
Nobody seems to be behind you
Just remember that Jesus only had twelve followers
And ****** had millions
Who ended up being the better side?
It's not about the numbers, but the actions.

That is three numbers
above my echelon numeric
and happens to be my 2nd
favorite.

I never thought about why
that from a really young age
I'd fallen into romance
with a 2nd lover.

One that only sits
three buildings down the line.
We didn't meet by chance--
6am a dimly lit haze
in between our
transition from home
to not home.

It's where our bonding of
digit to digit formed
and new meaning
came to our realization
that if time was to end.

It would happen
on the 24th hour
in our 24th day
the final 24th year.

Because to imagine
existing I will always
be a youngster
a brandishing elegance of a mind.

Who understood
time was our own conception
and beyond the end
was an abyss of nothing
that I hope I'd never see.

the numbers are introduced
to me
as imaginary,
gloves shaking my hand
and glowing figures
slipping through woods
with mossy sounds,
overgrown silence,
spells, keys, magic crowns,

until the fog stumbles in
and smokes us out
and hooded figures step through
the mist of does not exist
and into the sunlight of the other
side
that singes their edges
and shakes me awake
in the complex plane

of the linear mindset,
in which they're
parsing the problem
back to spells and keys
that don't open doors anymore
because the hooded figures
know all kinds of code,

see what I see,
see the root of hoodedness
enter our imaginary,
and as the only way out
the figures and i
shake a deal--

everything i imagine
now must real

A personal unique key
I've never been good with locks.
This depends on memory
but I suffer from mental blocks.

I need a new one
coded cryptic covert
not to be entered lightly
like a woman's purse.

I should never write it down.
I should never breathe a word.
Too much trouble. Start a pin strike.
Wear purple. Do what the hell you like.

i want 75 holidays with you,
75 times you make me blush.
i want 75 languages to say the things that get caught in my throat
75 prayers and
ways to say 'i'm sorry'
i want days that end too quickly
and legs that drape in sleepy closeness.
I want 75 leap years left with you
mountains and rocks to heave with you.
75 holidays that end with dreamy
fireplaces and walks that take in
cold brisk air
and 75 sly smiles as
i hide salt in the sugar
and you laugh out the oatmeal
and chase me through morning-
i want 75 kisses,
were you lean in too close
and i feel with my palms
the brick of the wall.
and i close my eyes tightly
and get lost in the ship of
your face and your lips and
your 75 ways of breathing softly into me.
I want 75 tears to wash away.
75 times you broke my heart
and gave me doubts and fears
and wrapped them in the
ordinary days.
And 75 ways to forgive me,
and then more to forgive myself-
75 bones that creak with age
wrinkles under chins, and
merry in the corners of our eyes-
75 ways you're my best friend
and the paste of me, the guts of me.
75 % the best of me-
I want 75 more healthy days with you.
days when we remember
why we started this together.
and when the sun is setting,
oh lord just give me this-
i want 75 small kisses on your check
before i join you...
and then i want just 74 more lifetimes
to find you over again
and count this all over again.
sahn
10/6/15