We went about in circles
one hand on the next man’s shoulders
something out of Gogol or Great War blind:
we ate chicken soup,
which gave one old man stomach cramps:
he was taken away, snotting.
A trustee, if such a thing is
imaginable in a lunatic asylum, clicked
around as part of a service-trolley,
selling cigarettes and bars of chocolate
but never newspapers; no telling
what bad news could do to the mind.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
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