They were debatingwhat poetry should do best.One says that it should break the shacklesof papersstrip the oppressive paperback clothingrun through the streets shoutingand scream from the top of buildingsand in the unmoving traffic of this citychoking on its own abundance.An elderly poet disagrees.He insists that there is, in words,an intimacythat should be left behind the closed doorsand between the pagesand the seductive whispers of the hungry poetshould be left for the ears of the reader.If he were a democratically elected tyrant of wordshe would have outlawed spoken word.Oscillating between the page and the stageyoung poet stares blankly at the wise old men.