When the Slanted Man one day
Forgives the fallen angels God
Will look on astonished as
The lords of Hell plummeting
Upwards, fill the sky with shouts
Of surprise and joy and anger.
Some of them will attempt to slow
Their progress, clinging to tree
Branches or chimneys or even
Each other. Others will rise
Still clutching the attributes they
Assumed when they first fell:
Flails and forks and forceps and flensers
Or holding tight to large close-printed books.
Those who were the principle
Demons of pride will still wear
Even in offices and suites new-furbished
Their hats and boots, their cloaks and cowls
Sinisterly shaped, unspeakably colored.
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