It’s the shortest day
Of the year,
As old Sol
Shifts his ass
Over the Equator.
Then the days
Get longer,
And the weather
Gets warmer.
Hah hah / Hah hah.
I told this to
Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as black ice,
With one white mitten.
And,
If he didn’t laugh outright,
He at least
Smiled.
(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen /A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
It’s the shortest day
Of the year.
~ The December Solstice ~
As old Sol
Shifts his ass
Over the Equator.
Then the days
Get longer,
And the weather
Gets warmer.
Hah hah / Hah hah.
I told this to
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as hidden ice,
With one white mitten,
And,
If he didn’t laugh outright
He at least,
Smiled.
(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island / 1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
This is a Test
(But not “the” Test)
For,
If it were the real
Test,
It would need an
Answer,
Or two,
Or even
Multiple choice.
But
It is not that test.
It is just a
Test
To announce
Something
Or
To warn about
Something
Or
It is a test to warn
About
A warning.
A Test
Basically
To say,
*IF*
This was
A Test
Get
Your shit together
Or
Bend over and
Kiss your ass
Good-bye.
That is all.
It is*That*
Type of test.
DE BA UEL
In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in **missing** diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. It is estimated Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote. I am as accurate as I can be in my timeline.
25 February 1917
We live a life where the years are short, yet the days can seem so long. We can be lonely, yet find the company of others tedious. I would guess I walked for hours today, so little inclination had I to do anything else. Yet now, with the time soon upon me to go down into the city, I feel as if the day had barely started. The people – numerous, interminable people – whom I met on my walk, wished to drown me in their banal conversations.
I would flee one, only to run into a couple; escape them, only to be tracked by a family. They enticed me into coffee shops, tricked me into homes, cross-referenced me for their supper tables.
They would even forego meat, they said, if I would only stay. I wanted to tell them that I would actually eat meat, if only I could leave.
And on it seemed to go, an endless day crammed with intruders.
But now, with bare minutes racing toward a new morning, I wish someone sat in my chair beside the lamp, so we could talk deep into the dark.
Fog drops
From the trees
To make the grass,
And chairs,
Wet.
Three birds,
Already the white of seagulls,
Have a flight plan
That makes them
Enter, and
Disappear,
In the fog.
Easy to do as
The Fog
Swallows
Everything.
There are ships at sea
(If you care to believe).
For I have not seen
One
For
Five
Days.
Nor seen them
At night,
Because
The fog also
Swallows
Their lights.
Really
In the fog
You cannot
Believe
Your eyes.
kafkaestblog 
