Enigmatic Swimmers

    Our actions are those of dreamers, of enigmatic swimmers.
We are not bad swimmers but our august heads with their clusters
of included reason bang continually against the glass sides of 
the aquarium from which we never manage to escape.  Our jaws,
exhausted by chatter, greedily snap up a bit of hay soaked in
dirty oil.  Our works are phantoms, phantasmagorias-- for ex-
ample the phantasm of a windmill turning its arms, braying like
a donkey, and claiming to be an angel.

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