The poem
Light drunkenly reels into shadow; Blurs, slurs uneasily; Slides off the eyeballs: The segments shatter.
Tree-branches cut arc-light in ragged Fluttering wet strips. The cup of the sky-sign is filled too full; It slushes wine over.
The street-lamps dance a tarentella And zigzag down the street: They lift and fly away In a wind of lights.