Civilised BotsRay Succre
I walk. I climb across sidewalks and pass a man. I tumble as small wrappers past a casino. I encounter a stranger in a heavy coat, emanated as from a projector within his clothes. Passing myself in the fog, am I to be a handshaking man, freight of a civilised bot, or a fright of mists breaking atoms under boots? “It’s fresh tonight.” he says going past, but we are startled at being sudden in fog. I can’t study shadows to fear their persons, their civilised bots, their parents, knifists and neighbors. Can I walk in my view, a housefly in shoes or dirty budgerigar clipped at the wing?
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