In the house of the city are many buildings. Among machines they least resemble hives or algal colonies. Their edges have evolved the close tolerances of flocks blinking as they twist in the window of an analytical engine, where nothing signifies something. The voids between own the vertigo of buildings. Voids question the many levels stacked beyond our reach multiplying sunlight by the crystal faces turned away and to each other.
Aspiration ratchets up the empty angles of morning.