http://organelle.org/pbooks/alkitabalssaghir.pdf

Once, when I was a stranger, there was a ghost next to me.
It whispered something so perfect that it was impossible to remember it.
And when I am writing, my fingertips remember, but my mind is numb.
Like numbers, except, without a mind to apprehend them.

Numbers are criminals, you know.
And mathematicians are the police that chase and capture them.
The correct mathematical result is the courtroom.
And the recording of the process is the prison.

Inside this prison, stars are sent to die.
Once, one guy broke the wall.
His surname is lost now, but started with a G.
He was insane and eventually died of inanition.

The place where he broke the wall is still broken.
Later, another insane man made the hole even bigger.
His surname also started with a G.
I am told that he died drinking dandelion tea.

There used to be a place called Vietnam.
Where numbers had weapons called soldiers.
And guns had wings called repercussions.
Vietnam was eventually apprehended by mathematicians.

You won’t find Vietnam in the prison of recorded numbers.
It’s a spirit-candle that now exists only inside a distant star.
Someone knows the name of this star.
But that someone, is, themselves, a star-person.

— from Alkitab Alssaghir