Felled not by a fall so much as a descent:
We present a lithe-limbed miscreant.
And darling, oh! what a swagger.
Like Peter O’Toole suffering from asthma.

Symbol eternal – infernal – crumpling in on himself,
Perpetual blame: mealy grain, ill health
Horned husbands, slobbering children
The fall of a thousand fire-stroked buildings.

Instead he circulates round the corners of this poem
Scraping his wings against metal words, knowing
That as the dreamers die, he’ll be forgotten.
Poor boy! Milton and Dante spoiled him rotten.