Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan

    Of tan with henna hackles， halt！

    Damned universal cock， as if the sun

    Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.

    Fat！  Fat！  Fat！  Fat！  I am the personal.

    Your world is you.  I am my world.

    You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat！

    Begone！ An inchling bristles¹ in these pines，

    Bristles， and points their Appalachian tangs，

    And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.