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Wandering and wondering, around and about.
23/F/San Junipero
stuck in footnotes and appendices
i make short poems they're usually about my anxiety
Poems
Karma Infante Aug 2013
KAFKA IN MY BATHROOM
Karma Infante
Aug 2013
I GAVE THIS LITTLE CREATURE IN MY BATHROOM
THAT SITS THERE
EVERY DAY
EVERY NIGHT
ON THE TILES
A NAME-
KAFKA
YES, LIKE THE
FAMOUS WRITER
AND I WAS WONDERING
IF MY KAFKA ALSO
MORPHED INTO
THIS CREATURE?
IT’S HARD TO SAY HOW HE LOOKS LIKE
DON’T WANT TO COME UP REALLY CLOSE
I BET HE IS UGLY
MAYBE THAT’S WHY
BUT EVERYTIME I GO TO THE BATHROOM
I SMILE
I SEE KAFKA
AND I SMILE
STILL THERE!
GOOD MORNING KAFKA!
GOOD EVENING KAFKA!
ONE DAY HE WAS GONE
AND I LOOKED EVERYWHERE POSSIBLE
NO SIGN OF KAFKA
I GAVE THIS CREATURE A NAME
AND NOW I MISS IT!
THAT SITS THERE
EVERY DAY
EVERY NIGHT
ON THE TILES
A NAME-
KAFKA
YES, LIKE THE
FAMOUS WRITER
AND I WAS WONDERING
IF MY KAFKA ALSO
MORPHED INTO
THIS CREATURE?
IT’S HARD TO SAY HOW HE LOOKS LIKE
DON’T WANT TO COME UP REALLY CLOSE
I BET HE IS UGLY
MAYBE THAT’S WHY
BUT EVERYTIME I GO TO THE BATHROOM
I SMILE
I SEE KAFKA
AND I SMILE
STILL THERE!
GOOD MORNING KAFKA!
GOOD EVENING KAFKA!
ONE DAY HE WAS GONE
AND I LOOKED EVERYWHERE POSSIBLE
NO SIGN OF KAFKA
I GAVE THIS CREATURE A NAME
AND NOW I MISS IT!
Joyce Dec 2013
A vermin stings
Joyce
Dec 2013
I smell burning lights of neon and blue.
It's Christmas, they say. Inkblots have formed
their own sentences, helping me
write.
In the midst of this slow night,
I swear I am right.
And I pull Kafka from the shelf
because I want to hear him talk.
I am my own vermin, and we can be random
together.
I love you Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I love you.
Shall we dance despite your limbs?
Samba's playing, I am left staring at you
then back at him,
and right back at you, right where you stood
tiptoeing as you reach the topmost corner of the
cupboard.
You know I never hide any can of insecticide, Kafka,
because I get it, you'll wither.
But I love you, Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I'm a bit colorful with a drag of dirt.
I'm a bit Spanish when I shake my hips.
I turn French right before midnight.
I lose sight and might when the clock chimes
two in the afternoon -
I become just by looking at you.
Because I love you Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I.
It's Christmas, they say. Inkblots have formed
their own sentences, helping me
write.
In the midst of this slow night,
I swear I am right.
And I pull Kafka from the shelf
because I want to hear him talk.
I am my own vermin, and we can be random
together.
I love you Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I love you.
Shall we dance despite your limbs?
Samba's playing, I am left staring at you
then back at him,
and right back at you, right where you stood
tiptoeing as you reach the topmost corner of the
cupboard.
You know I never hide any can of insecticide, Kafka,
because I get it, you'll wither.
But I love you, Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I'm a bit colorful with a drag of dirt.
I'm a bit Spanish when I shake my hips.
I turn French right before midnight.
I lose sight and might when the clock chimes
two in the afternoon -
I become just by looking at you.
Because I love you Kafka, I say.
I love you.
Kafka.
I.
Donall Dempsey
Dec 2020
******* THIS CZECH SHAPESHIFTING
lost in Praha
lost in Kafka
losing myself
careful making deals
with old Nick
I said 'Beatle' not 'beetle'
*
WHEN FRANZ MET DÓNALL
'When Dónall Dempsey woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous version of a certain F. Kafka.
Someone must have been telling lies about Dónall Dempsey, he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested to find out he had been turned into this F. Kafka.
Where had his Dónall Dempsey-ness gone and why - Kafka? He knew of but had never actually read any - Kafka He had knowledge of the tropes...what Kafka could be reduced to in terms of general knowledge that could possibly clinch a pub quiz victory so that people would nod sagely and say "I knew...you being a poet and all...that you would know the answer to that."
I found that what had happened to me...whatever had happened to me...was more extensive that I had thought so that even my initial "D" become the 11th letter of the alphabet instead of the usual fourth. I was now merely a "K."
I realised I would have to go to Prague to bring some semblance of sense to this transformation. And when I did so...hiding myself among the many tourists...I discovered that Kafka had become me and that we had somehow traded places.
So that now there was a Dónall Dempsey cafe and postcards bearing my features and other such touristy attractions that would be sure to be a sure fire attraction to the traveller with a literary bent of mind.
I visited the grave...his grave...and sure enough...it was my name that was chiseled into the stone.
Meanwhile Kafka was enjoying my life and strolling around Guildford as if it was his own. He appeared to be enjoying being Dónall Dempsey.
"Ha ha..!" I thought. "Give it time...give it time!" And Franz would surely find that being Dónall Dempsey wasn't such a good thing.
And myself being a literary tourist attraction? I ****** well hated it I wanted to crawl away and die or be trampled to a pulp by a frightened child who had discovered a cockroach in her cornflakes.
lost in Praha
lost in Kafka
losing myself
careful making deals
with old Nick
I said 'Beatle' not 'beetle'
*
WHEN FRANZ MET DÓNALL
'When Dónall Dempsey woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous version of a certain F. Kafka.
Someone must have been telling lies about Dónall Dempsey, he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested to find out he had been turned into this F. Kafka.
Where had his Dónall Dempsey-ness gone and why - Kafka? He knew of but had never actually read any - Kafka He had knowledge of the tropes...what Kafka could be reduced to in terms of general knowledge that could possibly clinch a pub quiz victory so that people would nod sagely and say "I knew...you being a poet and all...that you would know the answer to that."
I found that what had happened to me...whatever had happened to me...was more extensive that I had thought so that even my initial "D" become the 11th letter of the alphabet instead of the usual fourth. I was now merely a "K."
I realised I would have to go to Prague to bring some semblance of sense to this transformation. And when I did so...hiding myself among the many tourists...I discovered that Kafka had become me and that we had somehow traded places.
So that now there was a Dónall Dempsey cafe and postcards bearing my features and other such touristy attractions that would be sure to be a sure fire attraction to the traveller with a literary bent of mind.
I visited the grave...his grave...and sure enough...it was my name that was chiseled into the stone.
Meanwhile Kafka was enjoying my life and strolling around Guildford as if it was his own. He appeared to be enjoying being Dónall Dempsey.
"Ha ha..!" I thought. "Give it time...give it time!" And Franz would surely find that being Dónall Dempsey wasn't such a good thing.
And myself being a literary tourist attraction? I ****** well hated it I wanted to crawl away and die or be trampled to a pulp by a frightened child who had discovered a cockroach in her cornflakes.