Wikipedia Poem, No. 418
after Vijay Seshadri
and numbers
no matter how abstract
laced together
in a ceramic bowl
farmost
impossible
an implication of angels
argue about 3 green apples
in an old lady’s outstretched hands
the numb plain makes no sense
lust
in a cracked ceramic bowl
clearly the old lady and the victim
language sunlesions real flesh
strugges to become impossible
numbers punish its argument
3 brown dates drown in scree
neon tulips green apples