This blade of land engendered by the sun dances round and around like everything-- like you! exact and supercilious of all forms, even flowers, for christ's sake, bluebells hollyhock, clover goldenrod, sprints of purple something and, of course, the wild carrot, even the wild carrot, how do you manage it? Were not all things in some measure constructed (with welds of cells in this case, perhaps) you could not overbear them so with your tweedling eyebrows --agh! how can you stand yourself! mirrorwise-- look at it! looking at you. Wont you splash, red-handed, into it? Won't you break a cracker and make it flesh? Turn the pool to wine! The way it stares! Well, then, stand there (ox/ ox/ pool) dirty and locally misshaven you ugly cuss!--and get stabbed by the rust-colored sun increasing on the hill's edge.