BYRON

It seems their dream
is not all dream
but, too far off,
quite Satanic.

In a flat just east
of Williamsburg,
Southey wakes
two-hundred years

beyond his initial scheme
for rule by all,
pierced by the scream

of Coleridge’s carbon-
monoxide alarm
which they’ll take turns

socking with a hammer until, drained
of all battery, they’re both madder red.