with Yeats
It didn’t take long for the magpies to come back.
They are not falcons. I call them in with seedy fat.
We live on the widening gyre of justice now,
just outside the narrowing corkscrew tongue of raw power
shrinking like an old god’s cock after 2,000 years,
his self-made cage rattling with rage and whimpered tears.
see W. B. Yeats and "A Vision": Geometry
