PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Your nearly waist-length hair and slender, agile beauty

(shoeless and shirtless; just pinstriped trousers and fawn-gray socks):

created by your bloodlines (Judisch, Tschechisch; neither of which shocks

me); the way you draw such romantic music from those piano keys---

Chopin's Nocturnes, primarily, and those intimate melodies

so aggravating to that Bavarian imbecile, the housepainter,

whose talons clutch the throat of Deutschland to ravage and taint her

(I suppose the decorated corporal prefers the sound of Brahms,

performed as a prelude to the detonation of bombs).

The Weimar Republic is dying:  its successor will, too soon, smother

all who are like unto us---two young men, in love with each other.

The National Socialist party, to whom we owe no duty,

cannot yet detain us, or those like us---those who can flee the 

chaos of that Gotterdammerung, for the relative peace of Geneva.

J-Called