Second video rehearsal, in two copies — the edition path, on a contract that has never held a video. Not the work.

First video rehearsal: the same loop with a mark burned through the middle of it. One copy, because the unique path is what is being tested. Not the work.

A blob in a good mood, and no face to be pleased with. Two and a half seconds is the whole of it — the sound arrives a fraction before the shape does, so you hear it decide before you see it move. Then it closes, and you cannot say which end was the front.

Two ears, one grin, no rabbit.

It kept growing and the face kept up. The teeth are the only straight line.

The ribs opened like a door. Whoever is inside is smiling about it.

Stacked upright, a face at each end, both shouting the same thing.

Dressed in red and holding it out. The gift is the shape of the feeling.

Served, arranged, garnished with fingers. He is behind it, waiting.

A badge for the front of something. Two hearts, in case one fails.

Crowned in what was inside. He has decided this is a good day.

Something moved over the eye and stayed. The smile did not change.

Coiled in the pan, cooked from the outside in, still hosting a guest.

The legs came first. The shorts were bought for them afterwards.

A ring of watching. Two of them lean in as if it were breakfast.

More eyes than the face has room for, and all of them are certain.

The heart made a face so it would be easier to look at.

Ripe, seeded, wrong. Somebody is wearing it.

Stop, it says, with the hands. The chest has already opened.

She grew the fruit herself and it grew back into her.

Bent into luck. Both ends kept their faces.

It holds its own head the way you hold something still warm.

Two of them, and neither is the copy.