(In all the Great Cities of the World
Walk Secret Cripples
And fools like me, disturbed
By thoughts of purity,
Naive to trust in what they feel.)
Oh, i act very wise
But my all-perceiving eyes
Betray me into countless traps.
Baited with beauty, briefly tendered
Triggered by blundering passion
And left dismembered.
My eyes are fools. They seize triumph,
Clarion-call it to the quick heart,
The heart bombasts the news to the blood
Whose course runs all over
The Sad Republic of my flesh.
My eyes should be ashamed, downcast
After seeing so many false dawns.
And yet, neither eyes or heart
It seems, will learn to be as stone.
Even my curses are cliches,
Even as my hopes are banal,
And in my desolation i only utter platitudes,
Repeated so often before
By stranger's mouths.
Can there be a soul that will not walk
Machine-like to money-making
On these streets,
But will stop and regard me?
Can there be a face of human form, of flesh,
That will neither scorn nor fear me?
Is there no flame that flickers like my own,
Among the striding robots,
Among the smiling statues,
So clear, so clean, so prettily repeating...
What seem, at least, to me...
Banalities?
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