I count twenty seven heads
only on the first few seats
but no, this cannot be
my mind is multiplying by nine
so my heart is skipping three times
its beat


I came to bid a second goodbye to
yet another corpse I do not know
(nor will I ever) and to think
the first few prayers take each
seven minutes less than it takes me to
walk to that place on the sidewalk
where no one can see me and I
stand just
waiting

yet another rotting corpse and here
we are ceremoniously grieving this loss
(sadly no one grieved this corpse's
loss of control to alcohol when alive,
which seems so much more appropriate)
and sixty-six years of living
are precisely thirty three years
of disease, unless you count the violence
as well


ten times thirty five, three hundred and
fifty seconds of standing up
to adore a creature countless
blind and invisible
so, three hundred and fifty people: how does it
feel to surrender yourself to a Greater
something which you cannot quantify?
is the weight of relieved responsibility exactly
three times as many as the number of your sins?


there are fifteen windows on each wall
and there is no one outside, only fluorescent
lights which are turned on as everyone switches off their
brain
(goodnight)



sometimes counting things over and over
makes it easier to distort them so much they
do not look at all as they did when I first saved them:
they are merely dismembered parts of an
alcoholic corpse which barely resemble
the actual alcoholic man


a rotting corpse who will never say
(goodnight)