Homage

‘A New Era of the Plastic Arts has begun.' — Kiesler The world is going upstairs and some people of whom Frederick Kiesler didn't approve are sitting in the basement. Galaxies galaxies you are our last jewels the ones the Czar gave us and we preserved in our ateliers Preferring to drive taxicabs and knowing we had a secret (able to live gracefully in tenements) We simply waited a fresh morning that was bound one day to open over the roofs And we see dawn as a palace. Having in sleep experienced original dreams which now become an environment So we climb into it in the night suit trusting to place one foot on ‘the cornerstone of the edifice' No longer ‘traditional' or ‘isolated' Whose edges border on a scheme accurate as stone Whose edges no longer rough surround us (on the walks to commence our future in another scale) Galaxy I see you hanging from the ceiling You are our bartered bride with your grand comatose skeleton Because you are edifice and bestowed on you is a ‘coat of arms' Which you regally loan dividing it into weightless halves Making your entrances from the moon