Summer 1965 • Vol. XXVII No. 3 Poetry |

Of Heaven as Production Number

Perspective false and canvas full of tears, The painted backdrop terminates real stairs; And toward that point at which they vanish, paint Or hole, an act of faith impels, not saint, But mediocrity. Sure his trite steps Somewhere will be writ large, a dancer taps Intent as though some new dimension yawned. It yawns. There on the screen, the backdrop pawned, A black and white aurora throws with ease A staircase of immense piano keys; Ascending which, in top hats, nothing more, Pure-tonic chorus girls tap out the score. Angelic Evas in angelic curls, Angelic Topsies in melanic pearls, And in the center, dancing as he did,The unimproved and undone hominid: Machine-writ large upon the starry void, Yet flattened thereby into celluloid; Who, in the round, by slowly failing strength, Learned there is only width and breadth and length, To be dispelled one stairstep at a time; However often still he may, in time, Have dreamed of escalation and an en

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