**Image transcript: **

Law makes long spokes of the short stakes of men. Your well fenced out real estate of mind No high flat of the nomad citizen Looks over, or train leaves behind.

Your rights extend under and above your claim Without bound; you own land in Heaven and Hell; Your part of earth’s surface and mass the same, Of all cosmos’ volume, and all stars as well.

Your rights reach down where all owners meet, in Hell’s Pointed exclusive conclave, at earth’s centre (Your spun farm’s root still on that axis dwells); And up, through galaxies, a growing sector.

You are nomad yet; the lighthouse beam you own Flashes, like Lucifer, through the firmament. Earth’s axis varies; your dark central cone Wavers a candle’s shadow, at the end.