Axe

A book, a poem, a scribble . . .
hack away with this axe you wield
with no mercy until death’s door
opens. In dark snow with silence
swirling. Your three sisters went in
and never came out. You survive
for nothing but this endless work
sledging, ripping, tearing apart
such grip. Measure and spoon, serve cold
without skin that taints raw power:

in memoriam, Franz Kafka

(1 January 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander