The Age of ArrowsJohn Mulligan
In the age of arrows I reasoned a dove as a mouthpiece for number theory. The dove said the route of flight is a square because wings placate space to justify motion. I pioneered learning how to pee from remote locations into the cups of my neighbors. In the evening I was initiated into the mysteries of the abacus. The dove was there. The dove was not speaking. For many nights I mistook the rattling of branches as the clacking of beads. A snake in my shoe engines spit into my sleep. The same sounds from the ceremony. A lonely mathematician preoccupied with quantities. Leaves suspended above a stump holding inquisitions. I am next. "Your solitary heart divided by the sum of all the distances in an actual heart equals many birds."
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