When I’m real old, I’ll get high on opium all day and dream of what it was like to be food—How it felt when she came out of monkey-me and monkey-she latched on—and gobbled me up—And part of me came out of her monkey ass twenty monkey-minutes later—But!—Next day she was bigger and smarter and part of myself must have carried inside her, must have—I call this “earth syndrome”—This addiction to being life—When I’m old I’ll lay back and smoke opium and imagine myself as banana cake or banana tree in an orchard peopled by trees of two hundred million years. And I feed my daughter.