First Woman
Lyrical abandon
And mental cautiousness
Must not mingle to a magic
Glowing, yet deliberate.
Second Woman
Never spill your wine
Upon a page of mathematics.
Drink it decently
Within the usual tavern.
THE SWORD CONVERSES WITH A PHILOSOPHER
Sword
The Hindoo raises his arms
And holds them level with his shoulders
Till they become still and permanent, like horizons.
But I prefer to stumble
Into abrupt harmonies
That must ever be flung aside.
With one quick slash I cut
Lips of death upon an expressionless breast,
And a vermilion sincerity
Pardons the sophistry of flesh.
It is better to make
And leave the moments of a poem
Than to erect an ingenious pedestal
Upon which blindness solemnly squats.
Philosopher
Men’s tongues are slow, and they have made you
To avenge their hidden shame at this.
You give startling girdles to virgins,
Red beards to thieves,
And writhing necklaces to children,
Because the tongues of men are slow
And revel in your quicker rhythms.
An idiot whirls you around his head
And persuades himself that he is swift.
Imagination drenches his eyes
And he spreads himself flat on your blade.
Sword