  I Bulging maturity Constructs an unfair version Of curves not visible To eyes upon the outside face. II If a soul is more Slender than the motives of wind, Flesh provides the necessary Privacy, and in a rising voice The soul proclaims its gratefulness. III Who has watched a bear Pawing his idea of a breeze? The audience in this falsely walled Room is pouncing awkwardly Upon the small part of a singer’s voice. The actual sounds swing easily To eyes and ears beyond the edge of earth. IV And if to this meandering Of metaphysical remarks I should add a face Where tragedy experiments with lanterns To aid a long, sharp nose and wondering lips, And laughter is conscious of being The excited, misunderstood child of a soul, The singer would receive Final details of her disguise. |
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