The Violation of Mathematics

they count like the weather does not see, or as the winds are extra for a divine coat and a sword through my spine’s row of 12 or 7 hearts, to approach the outdoors like an executed son of ways, the rite of painless death shared between my collapse and your solar bodies with the others bound to the tiny moon as they offer the snake farm to inhabit the few torsos as they do not remain or wind down past the invasion of Panamá. there they do not absorb all the rain day spreads that the people (my family) want to relay, they patch our focusing eyes into the interiors. slaughter echoes through the incisions of our wandering as the different birds do not calm the familiar. a hammock rests in the shadow. I swim from the isthmus to the incremental blood loss left to the soldiers in my neighborhood, as I see the violence there so worn that my head falls into the giant canyons. I weave it with the most harmless threads of nature as we embrace the wool of my shadow. the cost of this practice is the constant invasion by the steel which says it loves me like a vacancy. the wounds of my wilderness seem like the climate and now after every violation my frame is shriveled on that side of the volcano. but where will it appear and is it still? I write these streams and they no longer cut through the sewage of my soul. am I together? are my tears where I see? and what of that long and violent war of ages where she sewed her monsters to my face so that I could no longer accept? what would have happened without those? and how about this hive body? I saw it on the pavement ages ago and could not scream and had no one to sing to about it. because I was gone and now I am lost in every number and letter to explode it for the exile of concatenations