arithmetic.

she has thirty-two bullet shells on her belt,
twenty-nine notches.

twenty-one patterns of scars on her legs and
the four slashes of a knife.

she makes sixteen different phone calls and
searches five clubs - glaring music –
three drinks at each: she’s too drunk to tell pavement from sky.

there are seventy-six smiles on sixty-three days
(counting late morning sunlit eyes)
one hundred and three bedroom glances.

she has four limbs and no purpose.

thirteen steps up the stairs and
one knock on the door –
two-six-two.

one swig from a metal flask with
seven dents. three thousand five hundred fifty-four hesitations.

one shot, eight hundred and forty-two drops of blood on the wall.

two days and three more bullets.