Ordered rooms lack form
as decorative functions have stolen their storms.
Can you see the droplets for the rain?
Visibility is a ceiling made from grout,
no tiles to speak of.
Sentiments drive sentences
and forget to breathe depth
beyond surfaces cleaned by
emotional bleach.
It's not a matter of getting the shovel
for the feelings in the trunk,
it's a therapeutic question:
how do you grace a field
whose fires are meant to make room for better life
but whose smoke is unfriendly to lungs?
It's an act; tautologies on ice,
frozen in crime's rhyme:
the law is on the pen's side
and pencils don't sit
they stand.
Er_sure fulfills an imagination
whose desperate thirst
can only be quenched
by biting down its own tongue.
Either way, it's a mission:
be in front of the eyeballs
of the people who might provide
a way out of this lonely Prussian
workers' compensation insurance department.
K and his progenitor
could only accept
disappearance after death
for their work couldn't matter
without that crucial stamp
of fatherly approval.
Let our friends decide,
each of our Max Brods*,
whether our echoes shall resonate
across time's living room.
----
Max Brod was Franz Kafka's friend and executor who, against the author's instructions to burn his work, published Kafka's writings posthumously.
Roman Ryan 