“There was an old Consul called FirminWho alas was infested with verminBut for this man obsceneWas prepared a ravineTo spend all the rest of his term in.”

Malcolm Lowry (1942-44)

I found a man strung from a tree,
and though he swung hung heel-to-sky,
his legs were crossed, and he was calm.

This seemed unnatural to me.
I asked if I should cut him down.
He said, "No need. My hands are free.
I'll be just fine; I'm going home.
Look me up, when you arrive;
we can chat and drink fine tea."

I left that man strung from his tree.
I found it odd he trusts his god
with such foolish, fatal diligence.