It’s not about which numbers you
uncoarsely slide as quickly through
your mind as you pass beads upon
an abacus. Some tool can yawn-
lessly count clicks from unobtru-

sive corners – ever boxed with few-
er needs and more desired acu-
ities than hands that stir at dawn.
It’s not about

how you can stop stumbling in shoes
old giants wore, but how you choose
to walk with mud-stuck steps, knees drawn
above uncreasing fields respon-
sive to the hopes you always knew
it’s not about.