Kafka is in Jerusalem
with his rainbow boots
tuned to channel one,
as always, there is coffee
a paper to unfold.
shadows tint changes in her face.
now bursts over and over
every morning he wakes
amid the rented bric-a-brac
to write the wrong poem--
wild leaves
snow in Georgia September;
fat words swimming in grease
lean chastisements to bury a face
even the score.
just a wrinkle 0f words
a hurt in the numbness
Madame Sesotris
turning the card
that shows him kneeling before her
wounds. At night he crept back
to dripping blood,
sand and water
measuring, always measuring
Author notes
"The almost invisible blight
of the present bursts in on us"
"Attabled with the Spinning Years"
by John Ashbery
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Nice job. Very interesting poem.
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Another great piece...you never ceaseto amaze me. I run out of words1!!! Thank you for sharing....
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Wish I could see things in the present but I look back and look forward trying to work out if the present has a purpose at all. I may get my Tarot cards out and try them, better than political satire that the papers spew each morning, I wonder if they think about wrong poems each morning and do they kneel? One would think not for that would require humility.
C
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too right
Now IS bursting over and over and the words will never adequately chronicle the passage.
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