A dusty room, in a run-down apartment. There is only one window in the back center of the room, toward back stage right, letting the dusty purple light of dusk ripple in.
Thinker is studying him…
Thinker: What are you doing?
Poet: I am thinking.
Thinker: That’s my job,but your job is to write.
Poet: Will you let me be?
Thinker: Well you said you were going to write today…and –
Poet: Stop it. You’re making my blood rise.
Thinker: Fine! Then I’ll write, I’ll write right now, so we can leave this suffering!
Poet: I didn’t become a poet for that reason…I didn’t sacrifice everything I’ve ever lived for, for that! For that ugly and vicious inhumane commodity. What have I become?
Thinker: An actor.
Poet: You only say that to make me feel better, the others don’t believe it.
Thinker: The others can go to hell.
Poet: Let me think.
Thinker: No. You must write.
Poet: I can’t breathe in here, this murky room, all these books, these books are for thinkers. Not for me.
Thinker: Leave my books alone, will you? Stop your dallying. My job is to think, your job is to write.
Poet: To write! I don’t believe you, what if you are wrong?
Thinker: A thinker is never wrong, I can see you from here but you can’t see yourself…here, let me bring you a mirror…
Poet: No, I’d rather not.
Thinker: Draw the curtain, let me bring you the moon.
Poet: I’ve seen the Sun and Stars and Moon before, I’m looking for something new…
Thinker: Something I’ll never see?
Poet: You’ll see it.
Thinker: I never do, I don’t have time. But I’ll make time if you won’t. If you wait another hour, I’m going to punch your virile head.
Poet: I’ll throw you out the window if you punch my head.
Thinker: And what will you do without me?
Poet: Nothing I suppose. I’ll do nothing. Nothing! NOT A DAMN THING….DO YOU HEAR
THAT? I’LL DO NOTHING.