![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nZanJ-2IO6_d7YPOeDfihfjwhUbgdT_Rz_LoXVq3zWlQ2AAEnougEDvzkrUvoiYU9jZzkNl9zRWZj6sQG2Vf2Z1KUntqStIbf6piLSEX79pjLNqpk8sJP4zFwfuTaoWpsgL8xBLJLKU/s400/sing.jpg)
Danse Russe
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
2 comments:
Love the picture ... and do love that poem!
Thanks for sharing that great poem.
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