The first consciousness came from sound. A double beat like two drums out of synch; one slow and steady, the other like a woodpecker pecking at the bottom of a pond. Then came the more comprehendable sounds, the rhythms, the loud & quiet moans, the Zach & Screeches. Oh, life before the eye!

Open now and without blind, he wandered, taking in, putting out, without reservation or embarrassment. Naked body made not for ruddy cheecks, blood not for turned stomach. Nose helped him out, putting instinct to naivete. The stranger is good or bad, the mother is sleep and food and warm. The smell of snakes and fear, booze and milk, dogs and cats and mice.

Skin helped him out; warm good, cold bad, hot good, hot bad. Skin helped them out too; black, white, red, yellow.

Then talk, talk, talk. The words with worlds of meaning. The words help eye see white where there was once dark. Mom's a wolf now, smells of blood. Eye is green but wants to be blue. I want to be you. The ears which once beat the primitive drums calling the spirit out, calling the spirit in; now they pitch and speed to the beat of the drummer boy. Front line, aye! the front line.

Taste and touch now, words and meaning. Circles like a lens. World vision, filter the meaning, make it true, make it lies, make it real.