"Every man." Dedicated to Franz Kafka
“Every man”
Dedicated to
Franz Kafka
Joseph K. dies like every man.
He dies alive, watching rising sun
And disappearing face behind the
Dusty window.
His killer is alive too.
He kills and stays alive, cause it’s
Not true that you rip yourself into
pieces with the swift movement of a knife.
Stays whole, watching droplets of
Blood on a cold perfection
Showed on a finite dance of
Body and steel, skin and hardness,
Stopping movements and stillness.
Every man dies like K.
Facing fears and regrets
And hundreds and thousands of faces.
Or none at all.
Dies, exciting the labyrinths of clouded
streets and steep stairs covered
with dusty remains of words, like
try, manage, all right.
The streets you wander looking for the doors destined for you to cross,
the stairs you crawl up, reaching all
but the last.
And then, you listen to the guard standing in front of the doors.
‘I won’t let you pass.’
And you don’t.
You bribe, ask, and plead.
Not enter. Even though the doors are for you
And the guard is as well.
It comes to every man.
Or every man comes to it.
Through actions or inactions, everyone tastes
the blade and blood and denial.