the math (such as it is) in poetry

the remainder, indivisible
that which gets left behind
because it didn’t know how to divide
Solomon’s kids left out to writhe
exposed to wolves and snow and rain
as none would deign to forsake claim

the remainder, then
mathematically repeating on like pi
repeating like the last digit of two-thirds
all those sixes never quite becoming seven
always always almost seven
always always always almost seven but not quite
carry the zero, carry the load
carry the unknown remainder of your half-life
until you simply just explode

you are indivisible until
the bomb goes off and makes a chunky salsa
of your mind, your life, your very heart
indivisible until the day you’re finally not