Hermann Hesse's glass bead game had its part to play
As did chemotherapy and surgery and a day
When I walked across a Lancaster field
A skylark rose so fast I froze.
But that was when I was young and foolish, and, by the way, the wench is dead
I have an affection for the past
that can not last
and a rhyming chiming mind
that has nothing to do with a series of dreams
that leave me sweating and afraid
this side of the grave.
I was made by the holocaust of the Jews I bear the new stigmata.
Still I crumble to know
What my ancestors knew
what is old and what is new and just what the fuck are we supposed to do?