Poems and Prose #113 - Denominator

How do ya do?
I'm one,
the remainder of
three and two,
divisible by myself,
alone, not you,
and most certainly
not you.

I'm an integer whose
sole goal is to brood
over what the hell
it means to be some kind
of goddamn numerical glue.

Now pardon me as I
lean forward in this
empty pew
and let my stewing
continue
as I count until
my face turns blue.

Poems and Prose #112 - Quarry

Some odd undulation
  intrudes on my vision,
diminishing my
  rod/cone combo's precision.

And so I hold my eye agape
  and begin the incision,
knowing that
  even if my hand trembles
  and I fail on this mission,
I'll no longer be faced
  optically
  with the resulting derision.