Hypothesis:

Sea-apes become poets when touched by fire.

Method:

Be born in wax.

Pool and rumble in eddies of proteins.

Eat clams.

Walk upright with volcanoes at your feet.

Count the vertebrae on your wrinkled fingers.

Observations:

Doulas draped like seals collect the wax and mould it into the shapes of the mothers’ fears (this one a farmhand, that one a pie), hold the figures beneath their larynxes as they utter secret sounds, and then let the figures loose to sink or swim as the tide chooses.

Results:

Hairy.

Limitations:

Arthropods are not a control group.

The sea does not move, or else moves too much.

The moon lunges.

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