Tek näl´ə jē the assassin

Tek näl´ə jē the assassin
Aaron Johnston

I mourned the numbers
My pity-laced tears threatened ink’s integrity
But ink stood resolute
In graceful portrayal of lines married to angles
Oblivious to all meaning
True to numbers’ simplicity and elegance
Subtle not to reveal their secrets

Numbers are the mystery’s butler
The key to solving the crime
Not always the culprit or the hero
But always a player

Most numbers have taken their secrets to the grave
A marker crafted by “anonymous” sits above their plot
Mocking their accomplishments
“Ptolemy’s stone gifted with consent of the general, in memory of mom”
The untread path leading up to it, overgrown with thistles and dandelions
No visitors since January, the year of our lord nineteen hundred and seventy seven
So it would seem

In the worm ridden soil, cloaked in the smell of death
Most numbers rot
Always within the sweaty gaze of a pair of assassins
One and Zero

©2012 This work is the property of the author.