We a rapid fear of the vapor call, ports disarming with dread leaves of oak and cypress, to swallow tears yelling ancient rhyme, unmetered war dust and the syllable in the mouth of any constant lion.

Aneath dead pain in the bones of her back, her black hair, pictures of her floating down deadriver silent at night. Of course, the river. Of course, pictures of him as well. Perhaps alongside, perhaps another river instead. Of course the rain that fed indians and napoleon is one uncapitalized tick of the everywater. Aneath her young mouth, her tongue, sugar flows back to yearned graphus, to printed dialects of languages where the motion of quanta is singing. We sing.

What now we make, carry, eat. These our cells throw off their jackets of mystery within any move, organism’d verbs filling area silently, under the lid, we take our food unkindly this day, and as martyrs another time, with song another. These children strain to grasp what seems passing; water rushes off the cliff, slowly moving bits of rock, leaf, flesh: material vitae. How our busy building happens outside the skin today: we god rent for a strained housing. We word carriers.

I am not these legions merry or dead, rising waves of senseless number howl. Angels carry delicate cakes to us in night, our voices sifting the air, searching for movable rock without mass. Making lines and curves. Capturing images to toss across the nothing and scream: ?!We’ve Seen This!?
Are you greatly cool. Are you best collector. Can you say what we say we are. Or have we been just numbers?

Aneath the mountains seeds are nanometering past the wall just before the light. Breaking earth everslow. Our endless water acres house the long mind which needs no body and owns nothing apart. Like our lungs the ocean untrembles with the touch of legions. Our job the knife. And somehow we think to slice together things, for this have fear: to think apart.

Aneath the naked young skins: starlight. Aneath the naked old skins: starlight and moonlips. Like the walking earth these many cells uncovering their quiet task of generation and departure. This we will not echo across our electric guessing. Our young and crazy fingers trying to touch every surface in one instant. To sit pissed in the corner, beating the walls and thinking:
I cannot touch it yet…

Aneath the watching mountains, the watching birds, everything picking through the lands and seeking food, shelter, mating. The vast song is ?!Duplicate!?
?!Improve?!
?!Test the Recent Against the Already Tried!?

Perhaps. Aneath the perhaps a simpler motion what needs no saying. Aneath this thinking a miracle of the fountain clearly laughing at the endless ocean. Aneath the ocean, the ocean clearly laughing with the endless fountain. Our young and dead and the else: touching. Instantly with inout the breathing rock, the breathing skin.

Aneath these fingers lions fighting the dogs for status and young men watching girls and boys to see how we are. Aneath the moves, these fingers itching and hungry, growing slowly cold with fear, leaping over the sun in a crazy orchid dance one or twice as well. My bones and your bones make the bodies one timeless word. My blood through every heart, each cell through every stone. It all turning over in the waters. We surround us. We music collapsing walls, building walls. Old earth bearing up our weightless weight.

This blood we greedy hope to keep alone grows the mountains; this blood we angel give along the air grows the insects and animals, this animal blood we send out: everything is here, animals growing us in their heat, rocks growing us in their silence, water growing us in its laughter or roaring.

We are the very air.