Cemetery Fuck, part ii

In that German immigrant cemetery in 1969
just before the redefinition of our words
you let me let you come on someone
buried in 1896, with the remains of his
stone prick our protection
from the near complete lunar globe.
What madness ran through us,
exposed to sacrilege and chill early
St. Louis spring? Don't think because I've
forgotten your logic that I've
forgotten your love. Some communications
remain whole in a temporal context—

(This poem is one of a number of pieces written in 1974 that explicate the story that eventually became my novel, Stones Out of Time. It is based on a pair of relationships I had between 1968 and 1970 that were tied together in a strange fashion. I did spend quite a bit of time in that abandoned, decrepit german cemetery in south St. Louis that first year of college. Good place to get stoned. Plenty of empty above ground tombs. Atmosphere.)