The 回転する poem becomes larger. Spinning to start the poem on the outer 表面, with liquid words in its depths starting their own counterspin in immediate response, creating 目（複） and voids and whirlpool staircases that lead to the Continental Shelf, where Ammonium Poseidon, visiting here from the Oceans of Neptune, is sitting on a makeshift chair in a toga, enjoying the view from inside, up through the poisoned 雰囲気, which filters the midday 太陽 in pleasing ways. Twang goes the harp. A bucolic moment, everyone admits. Meanwhile, ジェイコブ is shaking in his anti-bee boots.
