the sandwich

the sandwich

It’s been six hours since I’ve last taken
a bite of the sandwich and I’m watching TV;
hearing how God is a mathematician;
hearing references of how the world is a matrix;
numbers are bold.
Am I?
Can boldness be defined by the way I cry, maybe
the crook in my forehead; maybe
the death?
Can I ever be defined by anything?
Or does relativity truly mean nothing
more than dependency, making me nothing
more than a statement; a word.
I’m defined by only those around me, those inside of me,
those bordering on either edge, begging me to
wait.
It’s been six hours since I’ve last
looked at something I’ve believed in
and I can’t blame it on the sandwich
but the way you left
and the way I stood there, watching, waiting,
knowing.

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