I walk with acrobatic feet,
With draughtsman’s mind,
Amid the recent ruins.
Contemporary was this temple-
In-a-door bed, bath-room, kitchenette.
Classic are these fragments of but yesterday-
O warm body that you were-assembled!
I tread my balanced way
Lest I dash my foot
Against a battered torso, a drapery of stone.
I am excited neo-classically;
I am the curator,
The ballet master,
I am the museum.
I gather you up,
I arrange your souvenirs:
A wall plaque your troubled head,
Upon an adequate pedestal
Your lower, shattered, recumbent parts.
Adagio Chiricoesque
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