404 - Page Not FoundHere Be Dragons
This is the edge of the map; this is were you cut yourself. This is a woman whose eye is an egg, anticipating. This is skin; these veins confused with roads; these scars, histories and borders contested. This is a woman whose eye is pregnant, waiting. This is a man tongue black with birth, dirt—fecund.
Here things coil and wait. Here mist. Here the confusion of dirt and air and water. Here percariously we tilt, and for a moment we are not falling.