to Whistler

d’après Mallarmé

apropos of nothing storms

just to occupy the street

black hat theme in swarms

but a dancing girl is sweet

nothing but muslin or yet

sparse scud of fury

by her knee upset

we lived by the very

one save he worn down

in wit drunken motionless

with a tutu lightning-crowned

otherwise not caring less

if not to laugh at the bustle her

dress makes fanning Whistler