Sketch of a Man on a Platform

Man of absolute physical equilibrium You stand so straight on your legs Every plank or clod you plant your feet on Becomes roots for those limbs Among the men you accrete to yourself You are more heavy And more light Force being most equitably disposed Is easiest to lift from the ground So at the same time Your movements Unassailable Savor of the airy-fairy of the ballet The essence of a Mademoiselle Genée Winks in the to-and-fro of your cuff-links Your projectile nose Has meddled in the more serious business Of the battle-field With the same incautious aloofness Of intense occupation That it snuffles the trail of the female And the comfortable Passing odors of love Your genius So much less in your brain Than in your body Reinforcing the hitherto negligible Qualities Of life Deals so exclusively with The vital That it is equally happy expressing itself Through the activity of pushing THINGS In the opposite direction To that which they are lethargically willing to go As in the amative language Of the eyes Fundamentally unreliable You leave others their initial strength Concentrating On stretching the theoretic elastic of your conceptions Till the extent is adequate To the hooking on Of any — or all Forms of creative idiosyncrasy While the occasional snap Of actual production Stings the face of the public.