the un-invention of numbers.

1.
i want to un-invent numbers
if that's what it takes--

1.
obsessive: 
all consuming-- the numbers i pull from
a bowl oatmeal & the tormenting & 
inescapable enumeration of
ever aspect of reality--
i'm pulling the burning
alphabet from the digital
clocks implanted in my forearms--
cut out the hour-hand--

1.
compulsive:
irresistible-- uncontrollable-- 
yesterday i tried to stop time--
i thought maybe that's where number 
are born-- from the incessant progression
of the sun painting a belt
around the earth-- my
legs are pendulums & my body
is in a numerical state of--

1.
disorder:
noun- state of confusion--
when the numbers add wrong & 
i feel the room tip backward--
i count my fingers to remind myself
that i'm still all there
verb- 
disrupt the systematic 
functioning or neat arrangement of--
my knee caps turned into 8
& my elbows were made of 7s--
there are 0s in my mouth
where i used to put words--

1.
what would i use to measure 
myself if i could eradicate
the numbers from this body?

2.
would i touch the tips of
my fingers in a silent ritual to
quantify my foot steps--
i hear myself counting when
there's nothing left to gauge--
i compute the air between
myself & the ground--
between my lips & the next
word that emerges for
the folded calculator of my brain
repeating 0
0 
0

3.
the irony of a list poem
that attempts to dethrone 
all the numbers--
how will i write a stanza?

4.
i crawl into the ceiling tiles
to count them up close
& move on to checking the number
of ribs i have remaining--
i've lost 12 & a half teeth
the number of syllables 
in each apple i eat is 80-- round
me off by ten-- i'll be easier
to remember--

5.
when i was in 3rd grade we learned
songs to sing our times tables
& now i hum to count calories

6.
there are 19 numbers
inside a zucchini-- or at
least that's what google tells 
me-- 

7.
i started noticing how much
the blue veins on my wrists
look like the number 1--
repeated & repeated & repeated--

1.
how do you expect to get
better
if you keep counting--

1.
the number of times i 
have recited all the numbers in
existence--

1.
if i can manage to 
count my body to one-- maybe
we can hold together--

2.
i peel digital clock numbers
from my forearms with a butter knife--
i hear the faint
clicking of each clock
hand set in motion
in the curve of every rib--

0.
1, 1, 1--
i will be obsessive compulsively
whole & each time i count myself
a apart i'll be reminded i have only
counted to infinity once so i could make
it back-- discard the numbers on the clock
in exchange for my femurs--
my tongue funneling the numbers
back into my throat--

1.
drown below 0.

1. 
resurface--

2.
reset back to 1.