Multiples of seven. Strange numbers.
What I wouldn't do for a Cuban cigar and a steaming jacuzzi. Feeling that in tune. Running smooth. Instead of feeling all jalopy.
I'm a shambling man.
Multiples of eight. Strength in numbers.
I have grasped the calm at the center of the storm. I have found the well within me. I knew myself, before I believed I was lost.
Multiples of nine. Always coming up short.
These muscles that ache began to do so today. The injury occured while wedged between barrels, sawdust compacted around my legs, bending to release wrapped rocks. Handing them skyward to Chip.
Multiples of ten. Same thing all over again.
I'm where I was before, where I've always been and always will be. Within me.
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