In the Flesh: Wrestlers in a Circus (1909)

Form in motion, no. 3

Wrestlers in a Circus (1909), Ernst Ludwig Kirchner. Courtesy of the Cleveland Museum of Art, Contemporary Collection and Bequest of William R. Valentiner, 1966.49.

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The floor is last night’s
fever. The wired
felt, the coil of his lover's thigh
in the left cavity of his mouth.

Between the blades 
in the throat, the good god 
and the sleep well
and the restless dusk.

Light has come to rot 
behind the shutters of his eyes. The man 
on top is a knot 
of ochre, spine 
a blue-wrapped fall.

He feels the pull of becoming 
another’s weight. The way a neck can break
as it follows a lover’s flight
from bed.

The crowd is nothing 
but a handful of stones, 
slaked.

The grip around his chest, a feeling 
waiting to be named. Fingers
digging for the marrow
as if to ask: Are you still something to grasp?

The iris of the ring
keeps shrinking. He 
keeps waiting for it 
to wipe itself 
clean.

Two wrestlers mapping the hours 
held in. Balanced on the edge 
of the canvas, trying to hold the shape 
of a man before all 
the color runs.

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