  Maiden, where are you going, With impudence that makes your arms and legs Unnecessary feathers? Your eyes have interceded Between the flesh and soul, And show a light of reconciliation. For whom have you prepared yourself? I go to see an acrobat Reviled by men, and acting Within a lonely circus owned By Mind, Soul, & Heart, Incorporated. I love his limbs whose muscles Compete with twirls of gossamer, And Oh, I love him not With the drooling, fevered weight of earth. He turns my blood to one Profusion of melted wings. Maiden, why is this acrobat Better than men who stand within The favored halls of mind and heart, Playing, with lust and dignity, Violins and trumpets? They are not better, and he, Whose thoughtful quickness combines The pliantness of mind and soul, He is not worse—the thoughts of men Stand still on high roofs of the mind, Or borrow sorceries of flesh, While he, with flimsy trails Of ruffles on a gaudy jacket, Every stately, fierce, robust Finality that men have made. He cares not whether he is right or wrong. He seeks a decorative speed Of thought and soul, and he is not afraid Of being insincere. Men loathe him, but I clothe him With magnificent, specific Fabrics slighter than the remorse of a child And bearing involved births of colors. Strength is not alone The size and thickness known to men! |
|
