INFINITE ANALYSIS

It would have been better had we not been ill and in need of treatment.

He telephones to gods doctors petrol pump attendants for he knows

Somewhere that he cannot make the others see his sense;

Which is not to say it did not cross my mind that this thought might cross his;

The dim lamp experiencing light in some places seen with one who bears it

No more near night when the burning roof has boiled into the 

 Naphta thickened blue of the sky: forests oceans stars a mechanical-bureaucratic law

As on a late autumn evening the fires burn in the fields.

Really nothing out of the ordinary; but in the closed ground

We who live by candlelight are not now the best, nor yet the worst

Meandering in infinite analysis: those few years flared under certain stars.
In the end, a train to the West;  a network of long-distant traffic spaced for

Maximum speed: the Europeans almost all looking villainous and ill

With undeceiving anxiety; rife with electrification as if after a sleepless night.