, , ,

wires wrapped around your

arms, so that

they feed you numbers, big

sums, sent down from heaven and

added to the digits

on your other arms.  You call the


your calculations.  You

cry red giant tears, they splash on desert

sands, they dry and

spell out old stories.  You can’t tear

them out of

the earth fast enough.  there

have become concrete blocks

in your way.