|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||

*
The whorls of lines on a boneless swordfish fillet that resemble so closely the whorls of lines on a tree stump. I wonder whether they too might mark out the life the fish has led. What of my palms then, the multitude of lines should suggest greatness, instead it seems more like a confused tangle of half hearted sighs that they mark... I may spit at the world yet I cannot hold my head up and smirk, instead I merely sink to the floor again, unable to react against what I can see. Ah such a heavy slothly figure am I...