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The Auditing
"The Auditing"
We are all numbers
aren’t we? continually,
we are audited daily,
we audit each other
regularly
but we aren't regular
we are the noun
that rhymes with
britches
too big
for political
correctness
you could burn us
like a word that
rhymes with stitches
but do that,
you're not born,
you're non-existent
caught up
in the net
God's apron shelling
green peas
a small war waiting
for the lucky pot
like
judgement waiting
the torrid asizes
can't live
can't live without
counting beans
like eggs
in a basket
your first bedroom
the noun that
rhymes
with room
we, the fairer,
are never just
numbers on a page
to be
flipped
casually
you sit there
counting birds
sitting on a wire
ovens for baking
blackbirds baked
in a pie,
the pie
eventually cracks
canals
split wide open
blackbirds
now are flying ... out
we think about
it all
believe you me
we remember
the first number
and last number
on call
how many years
together
how many years
apart
how many hours
until tomorrow
how many seconds
until we part
it is amazing
what can and can’t
buy life and love
inconsequentially
like art
We are all numbers
every book
has its pages
One book
has its numbers
and even then,
we aren’t long enough
to entertain the concept
of what is and what is not
large or
small
revelation
...
the auditing,
like a black ball
drops
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing.
Now wasn't that
a dainty dish
to set before a king?"
Copyright ©
Lady Labyrinth
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