Incomprehensible nods of his head,
Quietly daring to raise his voice,
He pushed through with his hand.
A childish old man –
….Just enough sense left,
He watches to see.
To scare this apparition away entirely.
Empty recess for a man,
A form of torture –
….A sermon to be looked down at.
With Kafka’s fine words in hand, I referred to Page 161 from The Trial. Was amazed at the output.
Today at dVerse, Bjorn is hosting Meeting the Bar where the theme is Blackout Poem. Grab a book-page, black out and type out the rest in order. Voila! Your poem is unraveled… Very very interesting!