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