constantly risking absurdity

the poet like an acrobat climbs on rime to a high wire of his own making

and balancing on eyebeams above a sea of faces

and other high theatrics and all without mistaking

any thing for what it may not be

For he's the super realist who must perforce perceive taut truth

before the taking of each stance or step in his supposed advance

And he a little charleychaplin man who may or may not catch

her fair eternal form spreadeagled in the empty air of existence

paces his way to the other side of day

performing entrechats and sleight-of-foot tricks

Constantly risking absurdity and death

whenever he performs above the heads of his audience

toward that still higher perch where Beauty stands and waits

with gravity to start her death-defying leap