Socrates’ bitter smile
Socrates walked down the alley,
Where half the houses belonged to wolves and half to sheep.
Their faces raised alike from each side,
Ready to hunt or be hunted.
Between them lay a ground of stale seeds and broken birds.
- “Why”, he asked, “don’t you change the colours of your faces?”
- “But that’s the only glow we know”, they said, “It’s always been like that.”
- “Still, flowers unfold to many perfumes. And the mirrors in your rooms
can speak many languages.”
- “But we can only speak one. It’s always been like that”.
The ground is red, feeding the juices of the encounter to the seeds,
To breed new monochrome dwellers.
Socrates puts on a bitter smile, looks to the sky and drinks the hemlock.