The Question

In bleak starchy night

We walk

Fused by the trials of randomness

I am lit over evening’s eye

 

Dark as the air that blankets me

We flutter and bark our differences

A stranger beams redundant,

 

You are empty as life

I think

Stopping to witness a Kafka 

Chalking the station’s grid

Her lipstick against the gradual

Subway 

 

I wonder if it will always be like this ?

Reviews

[Alisa Js]

Your words contain the spirit of his writings that I have read, those that have been translated of course into English.

A certain bleakness that I noticed permeates his work.

Still, I prefer your words and style anytime over his.

Sending you thoughts of happiness...from out here, somewhere in the middle of the deep, blue Pacific.

Alisa💫

[Perdition]

Well the question, hopefully is being asked from the very beginning by the reader, more so than the poet's question in the final line. I tried using a sense of the Existential in that "what is happening here" method. I placed Kafka into the "turn around" to relay that something changed . Time, perhaps is stopped, where the walk continues but not in the eye of the poet who sees something unusal. Beauty, holding the moment still...or perhaps just the awareness of an awakening from the "starchy night". It does help if you are familiar with Kafka's poems or short stories in undestanding why I chose to use him here. Then again ...Thanks HI~