At 24--the numbers talked
discussed among themselves their importance
their patterns
and the destiny they will play out in our lives
they will outnumber each other
out rank the others
with their small talks about the political big things
and big discussion of the personal small

MIstakes will be calculated while
regrets make good souvenirs
Passages marked out for another day
never read
Toothbrushes worn scraggy and thin
shoes not outgrown but betrayed by daily love
they will be significant to these numbers

They will neglect the mathematicians
break their hearts
while they burn philosophers with their own jokes
Spirituality to them
are but just that, nothing more. Or less
Freedom not a condition,
it finally reveals its conditional nakedness and helplessness

So the numbers talk
their chatters never a song tuneless
even to the tonedeaf monotone kid in choir
and it is just so
Tune out. Block them with a muffler
Turn on your music louder
for they are but the doors
we go in and out of
never aware that they cut up spaces
opening and closing the infinite, the concise, the specific and the concrete
wide expanses and narrow confines
even the eye, the nose, and Grandmaster vision himself

thanks the clear glass through which it burns images
onto those numbers
while we try foolishly to attain their immortality