"The appalled savages

Clear as a situation
New as a caravan
Loose as a trade
Slow as a truth
The gifted waiting-rooms
The real occupations
The appalled feet
Of fixity
Natives changed into envy
A sort of murmur
A string
Full as a heart
Vague as an accident
Careless as a string
Abundant as a litany
Sleep
Hurried horrors and appalled tourists
A wood of pleasures
A middle
Like an English
Eternal savages and dried reach
Appalled lives and great expressions
Long trees and far off languages
Unfortunate hail and horrid names
Incomprehensible memories and impossible ladies"

--Robot X, 2687.


606 Day--was yesterday.