Always already less than human, we’re more than human in public […] Our numbers are queer, they won't come out right, ‘cause we keep moving like simple giving in the remainder. The human is never more or less than one. More and less than one, we’re walking down the middle of the street. We study staying unburied in the common underground.

This is why we stay with poetry. And despite our consenting to all the indisputable technologies; despite seeing the political leap that must be managed, the horror of hunger and ignorance, torture and massacre to be conquered, the full load of knowledge to be tamed, the weight of every piece of machinery that we shall finally control, and the exhausting flashes as we pass from one era to another— from forest to city, from story to computer— at the bow there is still something we now share: this murmur, cloud or rain or peaceful smoke. We know ourselves as part and as crowd, in an unknown that does not terrify. We cry our cry of poetry. Our boats are open, and we sail them for everyone.

A whole history remains to be written of spaces— which would at the same time be the history of powers.