The Accountant sits

His numbers behind him

like a wall

and dreams

probably about

skyrocketing

off the table

But in actuality

the accountant sits

and works

with his numbers

that are on the paper

in front of him

He thinks

and the numbers

rocket inside

his head

and he writes

the numbers as

they appear

In little boxes on the page

those tight little boxes

that house the soft

perfect figures that

the accountant

is proud of

The accountant

like the skyrocket

prefers to reach

the blue ceiling

where there are no numbers

but white clouds that he

calls only numbness

The accountant

he thinks

numbness is like

us all or

dreams are like

part of us

longing for the

numbness

the numbness

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