All Movements Should Kill the Wind

A man that animal which shapes its environment which also shapes its brain A fog a bit harder than the air the dust of stones A hexagonal structure like a monolith of which one dare not ask questions Two hundred kilometres from Beijing I found a sculpture factory where men lived amidst rocks that were waiting to be broken cut polished The same gestures come back again and again to write a history of deterioration and repair This history is obliterated in the making of monuments With the wind that inexorably scatters the traces of these actions