drawn to photos of his hypnotic eyes,
his German dark stares,
his incomprehensible twisted tales,
a kaleidoscope of failed endings,
Then I found his letter,
and this has stayed with me,
that abortive forty-five page typed
letter to his father, never delivered,
which begins in fear,
later published, for there was
only one Kafka.
Others now read
what was essentially private,
a moan from the soul
only psychiatrists can decipher,
and English majors.
I met my father when I was near thirty
and tried to call him "Daddy".
He thought someone on the television
was calling her father,
a voice overlay that made no sense
and then it finally stopped.
|Charlton Bruce Camp|
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