Ad captandum vulgas. To please the mob. An uncommon hatchery for a poem, much less a lyric meditation by turns soaring and repining - a tour through the fascist mind, through the pride and insecurity that grind at its foundations. Is the shadow gliding up against the sun that of Icarus, denuded of his feathers, or that of Danton, despoiled of his head? Is it the archetypal 20th century despot, a demagogue dictating to the masses, "beguiling the chambermaid, the tailor". . . ? Or a radical 21st century bully, a con man strapping the casement of feathers to his shoulders, throwing his glove at the foot of the heavens "until we fire our torches foamed of dreams and fan out pitchforked into the innocent street". . . ? Bruce Sager was the recipient of the 2014 William Matthews Poetry Prize BILLY COLLINS, JUDGE