right now is
check-engine lights
and disappointed
parents
a lean muscular
physique and a
bearded face
i feel more like
a fighter than
a writer
pumping out pushups
over prose
6-mile morning runs
and shadow-boxing
in the park
kafka's death and
genius stretched out
across my brain like
the strings of a violin
my own pen touching
the page gentle as a bow
making a music that
never really escapes the
echo of his own . . .
1 comment:
It's a difficult task for a poet to riff on Kafka. Many poets have drowned in writing about the ineffable great writers/thinkers who leave deep graffiti in our brains. The metaphor is touching, the ending perfect. You pulled it off.
Joseph Hargraves
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