“Can I say that?” He said, and he cut off his tongue so there was no more risk.
“Am I allowed to look?” He thought and he put out his eyes so his soul would not impinge on any other’s.
“Are there things I should not hear?” And his ears joined his eyes, cast aside on the floor, so he wouldn’t hear anything dangerous.
“Are there things I should not touch?” And he took the axe to his hands, leaving bloody stumps that would never explore, transgress or be idle again.
“Are there places I should not go?” And he broke his ankles so he would not stray – at least not without help.
“Does my presence offend? Are there things I should not think?”
And there was simply.