The play is about to begin When two unfortunate poets Are discovered in the audience. Morbid, grotesque, and nonchalant, They wear involved, embroidered clothes And smoke emotional cigarettes, Flicking the ashes carefully Into the rage of faces around them. And one poet recommends A ruffled, satirical vest for the hairy chest Of a broad man seated near him. With cries, in which the earthly illusion Mounts its strident throne, The audience expels the two poets With ritual of feet and fists. Unperturbed, the poets Stoop to mend their embroidered sleeves Tom by the frantic audience. With this important task completed, They stroll away. TIME, INFINITY, AND ETERNITY, DESCEND UPON A BLACK DERBY HAT Vicious and sincere, The black derby hat flaunts itself Upon the head of an amateur libertine. The libertine is a nervous rascal Asking too many favors From one spear-point exalted by men, But the black derby hat, Poised and incorruptible, Curves its black no to the senses. To those who cannot see, The black derby hat is only a sugar-bowl Turned upside-down and out of place, Or one of many crowns Bestowing their ugly pathos Upon the struggle of a nation, Or the way in which a dreamer Pitifully says hello to the stars, Or a symbol of bulky manhood Swaggering in an ancient trap. But to eyes that can look beyond The surface rites of America Bending over bargain-counters of flesh, The black derby hat is an alabaster Sentinel, defending its realm Against the pompous indifference Of Time, Infinity, and Eternity. The black derby hat is an outline of earth, Bold and abrupt, remaining Indifferent to the desperate commands Of sex and greed, and he who wears it Is only a helpful accident Bringing publicity to the hat. Uncompromising, the black derby hat Suggests the blunt isolation of intellect, And yet it may have been made By some weak serf of emotion. From the contact of incongruities Life evolves the more perfect shape, And so, the black derby hat, Gliding through the frantic defeats Of a city street, Coolly protects its realm Against the scarecrow-contempt Of Time, Infinity, and Eternity. I WALK UPON A STREET Must I see a gutter In which the hurried machination Of water carries bits of apple peeling To some profound, obscure intelligence? And if the gutter is to me Merely the masterful travel of brown Speeding with odds and ends of red, To lend importance to a dream, Will this belief decrease my size When death reproves my inefficient limbs?