No life other than him.
Slipped-aside eyes,
nose peaked, slit mouth,
a mite of jowl wobble
keeping it simple,
the fussed economy
before dissolution.
And those clothes. Fur,
broadcloth up to the chin,
cocky codpiece unflaunted,
though the ring is bling,
the book bedizened - minor
shows below that lit face
in sunshine time.
And it shone. Brewer’s
get from Putney sticks
slid King’s-side, mercenary,
merchant, law, all passed,
dodging a death or two,
money-man mouth-clever
as slippage upward went.
But the shine’s from out
on the dim of the in,
him of the Jewel House
to gathering abbeys,
quick to execute
while robed dark
downwards.
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