Numbers

by Christos Polydorou

​Numbers 

occur on many levels, 

some say 
they are (in addition) 

the remnants of angels, 

momentarily 
dipping their wing 

out of the mastermind 

and into the mundane, 
leaving the masterplan 

hanging for a while 

as the mundane is made 
miraculous. I am referring 

to the morning in question 

I found my guides 
and accepted them 

to guide me. I hesitated 

at turns because the great 
cities I have lived in 

have taught me 

both to be heroic 
and to accept defeat. 

Choose me. 

Single me out, 

in a crowd. 
I reek 

of my father’s 

desperation. 
Pour the good liquid 

down my 

throat.
The conclusion 

is that I require 

a way 
of rescuing 

with which 

I can learn 
to 

rescue 

myself.
Down the rabbit holes 

we go, down the rabbit

holes we know 
(so well,

were they our crooked

designs?)
Up 

the length 

of the sky 
we climb.

To discover 

the buried masterplan.
To kiss 

the omnipresent 

mastermind.

Advertisements