Glass Poem Collectible For Frank k.

Czechoslovakia ah
the kingdom of glass
the Castle where Kafka and the kings were

in the past though Kafka suffered as a clerk
dressed down by jerks
in the insurance biz

in voluntary martyrdoms.

down a street of gold
in the travelogue I wandered
ah sweet alchemy, alchemists

to No.22 past pink palaces
startling quaintnesses to view
through my internal vufinder

an unrecorded scene or two
much supposition...

I wonder how his
language grew, his languages

outgrew the town,baked in quietude
always slightly troubled into a

huge loaf of bread
that last thing he wanted
with God's own yeast infused
to chronicle world anxiety

while looking at his shoes

in folktale snippets
in his own rooms reputation

rising above the of course picturesque red roofs
caaricatures of him
from which he daily fled

sensing them on the horizon
hating the Castle view

conflating the fairytale and
its attendant nightmare
for you and you he never knew

and he so seemingly made of glass
too.in the kingdom of glass.

alas. too late to drink the tea of dried lilacs
prince of the ironic dreamtimes
fading fast....

adieu.

maryangela douglas 12  january2018