Brancusi's Golden Bird

The toy
become the aesthetic archetype
As if
some patient peasant God
had rubbed and rubbed
the Alpha and Omega
of Form
into a lump of metal
A naked orientation
unwinged unplumed
the ultimate rhythm
has lopped the extremities
of crest and claw
the nucleus of flight
The absolute act
of art
to continent sculpture
-- bare as the brow of Osiris --
this breast of revelation
an incandescent curve
licked by chromatic flames
in labyrinths of reflections
This gong
of polished hyperaesthesia
shrills with brass as the aggressive light
its significance
The immaculate
of the inaudible bird
in gorgeous reticence

~Mina Loy

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