A man is a man is a thousand, man.
A man is water. 70% apparently. Water washes, hydrates, drowns. Water fills. Water bends, folds and compromises. Water is flexible. Water isn’t so flexible. Water is water is ice, down your throat on a humid summer’s evening. Ice is so cold, so cold is the ice in your heart. Ice is man, man is ice. Ice is hard. It’s tough to touch, easy to break. Man is ice, ice is you. Ice is deluded. Too far in over its head; ice has broken. Take man, take ice, out of here. Ice can now permeate; ice can float. Ice is water is gas.
Cough cough. Gas covers your mouth, your nose. Gas enters you, you gasp. Gas fills you, you sigh a sigh of relief. Gas in, gas out. Gas everywhere. Good gas, bad gas, neither of them gas. Gas is many, gas is much. Gas is billions everywhere, invisible yet tangible. Gas is man is gas. A man is more than man, man is many, one man is many. Gas is man. Single man on its own, man is rarely so. Even so, so? Man will be a thousand at least. At least now.