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.