Late At Night

  
Counting up my losses
One by one
I quickly realize that I need
Another kind of math,
A calculus of broken bones and promises.

I try using fractals, mixing them with gin and bitters,
But it's no easy task
Keeping track
Of all these ashes
Blowing in the wind.

The paradox of mathematics
When applied to human fate
Is how such great sums always add up to zero.

Numbers fail, but so do words,
And even this sentence, which is being erased
As quickly as you write it, friend,
Will soon grow mum
And stumble into silence.
Only the period at the end
Will last forever.