The nomads, my ancestors, imbued me with savage blood; put their 
children to death in order to move more quickly.

     —And the forests and banks of sand; pinnacles of microscopic worlds and 
steam of mesmerized instants. Which, bowing to and on, a body's jelloey 
ligaments fold, crash, and burst into foam.

     You nomads; adopting new young, the parents of whom you killed, and 
ate.

     Let me leak out this blood of yours; before I cannibalize the one I 
adore. To step over oozing trails, fjords of decimated sentiments, ebb from 
dizzying heights.

     —And the forests and banks of sand; pinnacles of microscopic worlds, 
spilling beads of interlinked instants. Stand still.