An Argument

I. The voice of the man who is impatient with visions and Utopias.

We find your soft Utopias as white

As new-cut bread, as dull as life in cells,

Oh scribes that dare forget how wild we are,

How human breasts adore alarum bells.

You house us in a hive of prigs and saints

Communal, frugal, clean, and chaste by law.

I’d rather brood in bloody Elsinore

Or be Lear’s fool, straw-crowned amid the straw.