Suppose the arbitrary violence that is bound into action shapes us. Sexes us. Suppose each of us is oriented like an anchored vessel on a caustic sea. Suppose each vessel is anchored by a thousand strings of yarn that have no weight as they disintegrate in the acid body of the ocean. Fibrous expanse. Suppose each line of fiber within each strand of yarn is the type of vessel that pumps blood. Suppose further each small fiber is the type of vessel that holds the dark things themselves that move forward to what the dark hollow the mouth calls “now.” Now spoken out of the empty echoing tube that runs down into a series of fleshlike activities. Flesh bound by arbitrary violence. The violence of a thick thread. If the supposition is made that the acts of moving utterance are followed by a fire of wires is the binding principle that holds each contingent instance together believable? Livable? For each principle that is a thing amid a multiplicity of things there is a sense behind it. A sense of the plenum around which activity gathers. Split end, thread bare, eye wire. See: we might have a sense of what it means to echo the word “nature” after the word “now.” We might cut our own eye off. We might cease to be we. We might bend like the dark line of the sexed I. I suppose that these threads are sexed bodies perceiving down a tangle within a current within a tangle within a flood. I suppose that the violence of the flood is unavoidable as vomit after swallowing a gallon of opaque eye milk.