Texty: Million Dead. Other. Murder And Create.

How should I begin?
I find myself residing
At the dried out end of a dead history.
All my thoughts of are dirt
Scattered on a coffin.
And I a dilettante funeral spectator here.
How should I presume?
A besuited bourgeois mourner,
Virgin to surrender and vivid sense,
I scour lichened stones,
Desperately seeking
Daedalus's paternal secret of
Where we will land.
Well I was born with four fingers
On each hand,
And with my eight fingers,
And my thumbs,
I do maths.
Once again, how should I begin?
I've started weak and I'm stuttering,
But I have all remembered all my lines.
It seems that I have presumes
To talk of maths
In front of crowded rooms.
But I'll make the two times table mine.
Calculus finshes me,
I don' follow trigonometry,
I've got nothing to add to algebra,
The more complex functions
I don't remember.
But arithmetic...
The absolute zero
Is arithmetic
On fingers and toes.
I have remembered
All my lines.
I'll make the two times table mine.
I will not presume, but i will thus begin.