With Kafka.
Kafka would have liked
the way you said that.
You kept his books on
the shelf next to those
of Burroughs and Joyce.
You like the painting on
the book’s paper cover.
Paperbacks are cheap
and soon worn out,
Thornton used to say.
He liked hard covered
books, first editions if
he could afford. He said
Kafka was too morbid
for you. You need a lighter
read, he said, something
that doesn’t mess with
your female head. You
take down the Kafka and
read again where you read
before, the whole drama
unfolding, the printed words
bringing a different world,
and ghostly by the window
with steady stare, Franz Kafka
in silence just sitting there.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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