Fallen Man Poem by Frank Avon

His body is not
his body,
their bodies
are his:

Albion rising
Los ascendant
even the aged Urizen, and of course,
Newton

heroic,
ideal,
in the order of Michelangelo
but erroneous,
'petrifying all the Human Imagination
into Rock & Sand, '

his body isosceles triangles
as is his compass
and his design,
Reason personified,
at the bottom
of the Sea Time and Space,

his only hope
in his robe
becoming a scroll:

the embodiment of Error
is a work of the Eternal