The Minus Is by Nature Dead

​The minus is by nature dead,
It is chopping away at the tree,
Its legs are deformed and it speaks
The sayings of a fool. Catastrophe,

Its head is removed, it cannot see
The glow, it scrambles to the cave
It composes psalms, proclaims,
Its brains are scattered, its grave

Ideas, the avenues of its heart,
Its dark ideals, its stagger,
Its stumbling shuffle in the fog,
It kneels and with a chipped dagger

Hacks at the vines, and its mind
Flies, the crows flock and caw,
Land upon the tree, step sideways,
Invoke their own guttural law.