SINFONIA⁶⁹

a petrified glissade
rushes away over the lower ivory
of its own allegory

& mandolins of chock-full reds pulse! sway!

like deep desultory Frailty
over a sensuous territory
where smokes
maize & orange
curl greens all around Dancer's nude feet:

choked pinks, sables & burning blues
submerged in warm rhythms of flory rainbowed sound
which fluctuates grizzled a Glory
in its hoary human hues

Man's Soul's a Dancer!
to the strains
raised by the dragging of his chains

--And, what holds him to his melody? ...

not Rule but this:
the measure of his own lassitude

(this Dancer deems):
his stride too crude to suit himself
& so he plays Somebody with the naked Grace
to run the coolest pathway to the torrid Sun!

Immersed in languidly artistic steps
of obviously Seduction's moves
his rubber body fits the spacious grooves
of Space

with passions' so tentative silvery sweeps
while at the distance moans the steady Voice
of The Next/nearest Betrayal
broken staccato Hum
of gondolier Nature handing him his theme of Choice!
that Dream (demanding as a compelling drum)

Thrice round the mortal/steep terrace He
swerves         
          just
reflecting on The Verge:

a Dancer's tired wing!

Music grows!
while as its thrust thus, too, His trust!

... Heart barely flickering
Man's caught in the tense Silence of death
that rushes blindly in its Vortex's vale

past transgression of Edge

Does fail
then dances
( still )
Th'Infinity's pale breath.