Nijinksy in gauntlets, silhouetted
against a cancerous fog,
or Sandburg unchained. Flares,
prodded, leap up like angry dogs—
dance of the flaming coke
under a Van Gogh sky.
There’s an art to a man’s sweat.
I meant to ask his name.
***
I haven't got permission to reprint the photograph that triggered this poem, but you can see it here.
No comments:
Post a Comment