NOVEL CONVERSATION

Emotion Men believe that I can speak Without the aid of thought. True, I have murdered many kings, Leaned upon many cheeks, And sought the release of music, But when I ride upon words I am forced to steal them from the mind. Forgive me, now, if a trace of thought Invades my liquid purity! Truth You need not defend your argument With meek verbosity, As though you dreaded its possible subtleties. We are not men, but words! Men have made me a lofty acrobat Entertaining each of their desires With some old twist on the bars. But let us leave the frantic tasks Forced upon us by men. This is our grove of rest. Intellect Emotion, we have often crept From our separate palaces, Asking each other for secret favors. Emotion We laughed because the men who made us Could not see our desperate trading. We will end our laugh Upon the dust of the last man on earth And taste a peaceful strangeness. Art And I, the tortured child of your love, Will slip from the fringe of your grayness Into the void from which I came. Poetry And I, the moment when your arms Touched each other in the night, Will no longer strive To tell the happening to men. Fantasy And I, the glistening whim Of your secret love, Will change to a question lurking within your dust. Suggestion And I, the beckoning second When you curved a world in the twist of your fingers— I shall vanish into your completeness. Intellect The hope of this magic ending Is our only consolation. Emotion, a new philosopher Is forging blades for your torture, And a braggart poet Invites me to his disdain. Let us return to our burdens.