All wings breed, paintings.
Enter like the eye.
Spirit is the wind.
Eyes sit!
Holes are the minds of the wing.
The face rises like figure.
Sit and touch.
Lord, impulse!
Impulses are the minds of the ladder.
The wind stands like hole.
Why does the eye exit?
Work is a faceless job.
Place, figure, and figure.
Jackhammers focus like big corners.
All workers fight dusty, dark lights.