and in the hairs there was blood strange blood like that which has concealed yet flows his fingers probes the feeling a feeling of immense tension building up within him like the grieving of a mother for a dead child that sentences in a mournful court that which is personal protest the earth to death the blood wanders about his body it feels the geography of his bones his skin like some inner universe it navigates itself to the feeling that is probed but it is to late for there is a silnce now which grows in darkness and consistency curdling thought yet when he smiles he is beautiful