Thursday, 5 April 2012

After the Teuton

Reading Klemperer

You know how, one time, you came to me
for reasons of geometry, shapes that cried out
for definition, and of tactile grace…
Well, it’s stayed with me, all we became
in that room under a red lamp, our
developing-suite, is who I find I’ve been
ever since.  You’re beautiful – sure,
you always were – but I’m simply not…
or not simply; nothing’s ever simply.
I’m not in any sense I’d imagined
when imagining how things might be,
before they were… as they are: things
surely now are!  I’m weeping, you know,
as I write you this.  Which is strange…
strange because the longhand’s like a line
of lost sheep chasing the Outside Track
on some unknown drover’s behalf,
ahead of him (who’s nowhere), yearning
to find his pastures for him, into the breeze
and swirling desert-dust of advancing night…
So anyway, it was quite seriously erotic
for a while then – and not that that’s faded –
only I’m nobody’s knight in shining armour
these days… whereas once, as you’d be aware,
I guess… I assumed I would be.

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