Antinomies for Vulcanrnby Charles Edward EatonrnPut a bronze nude in a room that is red,rnRed walls, red rug, carnations on a table,rnSo that it says to anyone too white of mind: Drop dead.rnNevertheless, the nude is in control—rnIf the room could move, it would turn around it like an axle:rnSomeone put the passion of his life in it, the soul,rnAs if to say I coach and counteract the blood.rnShe was white, the model, gloriously milky white:rnThe favors and flavors of her body were offered up like food.rnIt was a bold thing; instead of marble, go for bronze—rnAll of that red and lissom white might have curdledrnWithout the shimmering resonance of a gong sounded by a bonze.rnNot a mood, a style, for every day and every hand—rnSometimes a blue room, a small, gold, glowing statuette:rnA needle taken from a haystack when fire moved across the land.rnThe storm, perhaps, blew out, blew in, those walls glazed by fire:rnCire perdue—the bronze is done, the axle turns—rnDrop dead, and live, a voice contends, from the center of desire.rnJANUARY 1995/15rnrnrn