A Pattern of Numbers

When I lit the rotten, ragged old plastic dams on fire,

The dams and the abominable branches.

Branches weakened and cracked by the sun.

They can’t be turned to flutes no mo’.

When I lit, I saw the flames jump to the heavens.

Twenty feet or more.

And I though, WOW!  A Pyro I will be.


But it was the man’s grandson in number 1 who pulled the fire alarm one day.

And actors and actresses seem to get depressed these days,

And I know why.

Like Gaga with her pills and so many other performers just trying to get by,

And I know why.  And I know why.  But it’s a secret.  Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.

It’s all about a pattern of numbers, like bread crumbs.


And the number on the door ended in 37.

There was a giant tree and a small garden.

The tree brought forth the whitest fruit like cotton.

An elongated pod 12 inches or more or less.

Large black seeds, but the sweetest fruit.

It was like cotton, but a little more like eating Gideon’s wet fleece.

And it was oh, oh, oh, so sweet.


And I added my number to the number of my neighbor and got 37.

But in 18 she wasn’t so bad.  37 X 18, I’ll always remember.

And my number plus my neighbor’s was 37.

But my other neighbor killed himself walking in front of a pickup truck a year ago.

A year ago.

And his number minus my number was 23.

And my number minus the man’s in number 1 was 10.

Like a diamond 10.

And he like a Goliath and I like a Goliath, we were so alike.

But not really.

But I’m a runner, he’s wheelchairer for his diabetes.


And I always walked to get my Jag.

To get the thoughts in my head to always zig-zag.

Like the flight of a bumblebee, like the flight of a bat.

And I saw one of those early one morning running in town.


And they say, Tetons, but do they really mean it, the French word, I mean?

But I will remember, and I always remember that number engraved

On the frame around the door of my cell in jail was 10 times the number

of the number the sum of my neighbor’s number previous number and mine.

Mine.  Mine.  Mine.


But I have so much fun with numbers.

More fun than with people.

I have so much fun with numbers, eating them like bread crumbs.

And I laugh myself to sleep, encrusted with so many crusty numbers,

Zigzagging Zigzagging through my dreams.

I’m a number, and so is everyone else.

But some numbers count, and some numbers don’t.

Some are just forbidden fruits.

Like the number that I found that had the whitest fruit.

But the ragged rotten dams that I burned are of a number that I have learned.

The number of my neighbor and the number of a beast.

The number of my neighbor and the number of a beast.

Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee.

Just subtract the last two digits.


And I know why actors and artists garner their depressions, but I won’t tell no one.

Shhhhhhh…it’s a secret.  I suffered it, too, but I got through, to the other side.

Hee hee hee hee hee.  Hee hee hee hee hee.  Hee hee hee hee hee.


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