Like the man who discovered women
(The difference, he reported, is enormous),
we are accused, finally, of working magic.
O the labor-saving stillness we spurned
(at our peril), O the perilous ramparts
for which we labored, o Uselessness: you
are of some use, Boredom: you fascinate,
and Inertia: you can be very moving.
And you, Marvelous, what plans do you carry
for the perfection of mankind
the betterment of the human condition
or because you wish to kill yourself,
or your enemies? Now we enter the infantry,
working magic, now love and women together
disappear, believe me this is war, always this
unplanned suspicion, believe me we wanted better.
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