Out of a poem of words perfectly inexact
You will discover my meaning, who now
Wince in so many ways under my love
As if it were a distant relative
Come unexpectedly
To spend the week-end, or a kangaroo
Delivered without instructions as to diet.
Not a kiss interrupted by your timidities
Nor a long loving look from which you turn your eyes
Will give you this direction;
Neither will your rational conclusions.
You will bend over me
As a pianist who discovers his mistake
And walks, surprised, into a city of curious customs
Which was not there last time he came this road.
Jake Falstaff
2 comments:
that's from 1937? seems thoroughly contemporary!
Fetzer died in 1936. this poem appears in the posthumous collection several before "Valedictory (New York, June 25, 1929)." but I don't the date of its first publication.
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