too much kafka leaves a rancid film on the souless poet

through fits
of broken sleep
as blood rained
down hard
thick scabs falling
coagulated hail
wetly thudding
off the cars
triggering the
wailing alarms
theft deterrents
in a world of
coveted dreamshit

i snatch moments
of silence
between thunderclaps
the storm raging
between my ears
as the ceiling
appears indifferent
to my state of
destitute unmatter

seeking a new
obsession as the
books i doggedly
read and reread
have lost the element
of sublime surprise
no longer triggering
new thoughts
just grinding down
the same ponderings
a thin layer of dust
coating the cathedral
in my tortured mind

ruminations and mediations
in circular fallacy
the arms of the vortex
hold tightly to
the fragility beset
upon constant creation
wonder slips into
a crevice of doubt
that the greats cannot
shine a light into
leaving unluminated echoes
to toll and toil
through the empty halls
as blood drips viscously
from the leaky ceiling
a taste of copper
permeates the stagnant air

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