I'll let the poem speak for itself:
a man who had fallen among thieveslay by the roadside on his backdressed in fifteenthrate ideaswearing a round jeer for a hatfate per a somewhat more than lessemancipated eveninghad in return for consciousnessendowed him with a changeless grinwhereon a dozen staunch and Mealcitizens did graze at pausethen fired by hypercivic zealsought newer pastures or becauseswaddled with a frozen brookof pinkest vomit out of eyeswhich noticed nobody he lookedas if he did not care to riseone hand did nothing on the vestits wideflung friend clenched weakly dirtwhile the mute trouserfly confesseda button solemnly inert.Brushing from whom the stiffened pukei put him all into my armsand staggered banged with terror througha million billion trillion stars
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