Numbers On A Timeline

Next time you make use of me, /I’ll look at your blurred eyes./I feel I’m adding,/ and subtracting, as well/ to what’s owed me./The reason mouths are measures /because we roam with the damned./I’m your creation,/I can put out fires /waving my arms. /It’s nervous mirth/ you can’t contain,/but not rage or energy./It’s pressure from numbers coded/you must have swallowed./I merit what I feel,/ familiar as long afternoons.

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