Frankie McMillan 2013

Kafka : every revolution evaporates and leaves only the slime of a bureaucracy

even when they closed their doors
sealed up the entrance ways, I could hear

the Russian songs; the passionate
laments of snails and that’s how

I knew to build little doors inside
my home for when the withdrawal

times would come; each door more tight
than the other and in the deepest

recess of my domicile I dared
to loosen my load,  hurl

my papers out into the snow
where I imagined they might fly

the street of Prague. Such an act
of kindness, the way a mind,

in the architecture of the dark,
can travel where it wishes