Kafka on the Nude Beach
Kafka Poem #4
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Kafka on the Nude Beach
is the one in the darkest glasses.
There are not as many directions
here, and the sea sighs further out
on the horizon than anywhere: glass
with creases that finally curl.
He ignores such lovely things,
small butterflies
the little yellow flowers,
and he dresses deep in scars
when everyone else
exposes folds and pallor.
These are the notes he takes:
“The skin of fishermen
is ruddy and spoiled.
The lack of pelicans spills sun
over the broken dishes
of the shells. Nothing resists
burning.
A fat man hides an erection
in layers of his guilt.
I need more ways than this.
The birds are not inspiring
and the heat?
The heat numbs me.
I dare not remove my shirt”
Some men cruise the length
of the berm and come back again,
pale as fish, proud
when there is no reason to be proud.
The sun is cruel
on Kafka. He spits up
blood. It is a black star
on his beach sheet. He will leave
soon, hungry for traffic
and to breathe the burning oil.
Nothing purifies him, un-natural
as it is for him to be this bare.
Un-natural as it is not to stare.
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