This patch of cells becomes a cup, pinhole, compound, camera...

I am hunting down worms along the seabed

I am carving the Stele of the Vultures

I am rolling from the cradle for good

And now I'm walking around

And now I'm walking around

And now I'm walking around

Labour of constructing knowledge

Feeling in the dark for something

Looking through my infant fist

Then tubes I built, to sharpen objects

And now you're thinking you're thinking

And now you're thinking you're thinking

And now you're thinking you're thinking

And now you're thinking you're thinking

And now you're thinking you're thinking

Two huts in the PASTURE, from which step this shipwreck's two survivors:

1 (Grand collapse of smoke / neuroses) tends the fire, hunched and exhausted

2 (Bone-and-muscle) saunters over, hacks and spits then pats 1's shoulder

The rivet stars fly out, bank and shoot towards the campsite...

Conchita Cintron, beloved Torera, circling a bull with her muleta

10,000 Andalusians gasp:

The stars all flying past...

Carlo and Laetitia taking refuge in the mountains, but hear thuds from guns of fellow Corsicans:

The stars now flying nearer...

And now I'm walking around

And now I'm walking around

And now I'm walking around

And now I'm walking around

2's a pool of fibrous red

1 sets out to map these plains

"See! This snake fastened to me drops, benign, in a cloud of dust!"

And so I put my hands together and enmeshed my fingers like so

And said "I have made a cage" and you agreed

Us both forgetting these are fingers:

Skin and cartilage and flesh and bone