jeffrey skinner

Kafka, Women

We went to buy furniture in Berlin. When I am kind,
Felice approaches. I fumble for the door. I suggest the axe
of marriage. This illness, feeling its way inside me.
Heavy furniture that looked as if, once in position, it
could never be moved. Grete, come to
the hotel, we will make plans. There’s never this kind
of trouble at the brothel. Without my head
I would not be lonely. But it is so crowded, knocking
at my skull. Felice, I am ruin. The sideboard in particular—
a perfect tombstone, or a memorial to the life of a Prague official.
Do you love me, a little? I can obey everything,
except what is demanded. If during our visit to the furniture store
a funeral bell had begun tolling in the distance
it would not have been inappropriate. How can I write
amid the noise and smell of human bodies?
The dress you wear in my mind is disappearing.
Still I cannot see you with clarity. What have you done
with your gift of sex? Disease has taken up residence,
soon there will be no room for Franz. I yield not a particle
of my demand for a fantastic life. Marry me, Felice.
Save me. Leave me alone.


from connotationpress.com