(IN MEMORY OF ALAIN LOCKE)
Amused contempt, is it, that scintillates
From your velvet domain
or contempt for the bemused who throng
The dim ascetic space?
Under the scrutiny of brown eyes and blue
You view Rome’s seven hills
Thinking, perhaps, of vacant yellow sands
undulant, limitless.
Though chaotic and obscure the furies
Who decree your present part,
Through anguished and confused the hungry eyes
Feeding upon your flesh,
You mediate the sordid encounter,
Osculant, putrid, rank
And regard, serene, the ceaseless discourse
Of wisdom and folly…….
