Classic Poem

Here in this room, bare like a barn,
Egos gesture one to the other—
Naked, unformed, unwinged
Egos out of the shell,
Examining, searching, devouring—
Avid alike for the flower or the dung …
(Having no dainty antennæ for the touch and withdrawal—
Only the open maw …)

Egos cawing,
Expanding in the mean egg …
Little squat tailors with unkempt faces,
Pale as lard,
Fur-makers, factory-hands, shop-workers,
News-boys with battling eyes
And bodies yet vibrant with the momentum of long runs,
Here and there a woman …

Words, words, words,
Pattering like hail,
Like hail falling without aim …
Egos rampant,
Screaming each other down.
One motions perpetually,
Waving arms like overgrowths.
He has burning eyes and a cough
And a thin voice piping
Like a flute among trombones.

One, red-bearded, rearing
A welter of maimed face bashed in from some old wound,
Garbles Max Stirner.
His words knock each other like little wooden blocks.
No one heeds him,
And a lank boy with hair over his eyes
Pounds upon the table.
—He is chairman.

Egos yet in the primer,
Hearing world-voices
Chanting grand arias …
Majors resonant,
Stunning with sound …
Baffling minors
Half-heard like rain on pools …
Majestic discordances
Greater than harmonies …
—Gleaning out of it all
Passion, bewilderment, pain …

Egos yearning with the world-old want in their eyes—
Hurt hot eyes that do not sleep enough …
Striving with infinite effort,
Frustrate yet ever pursuing
The great white Liberty,
Trailing her dissolving glory over each hard-won barricade—
Only to fade anew …

Egos crying out of unkempt deeps
And waving their dreams like flags—
Multi-colored dreams,
Winged and glorious …

A gas jet throws a stunted flame,
Vaguely illumining the groping faces.
And through the uncurtained window
Falls the waste light of stars,
As cold as wise men's eyes …
Indifferent great stars,
Fortuitously glancing
At the secret meeting in this shut-in room,
Bare as a manger.