and here’s Franz Kafka as a boy
standing in front of a large horse
the face of Gustav Mahler
glued to his own

he has jet black ears
and wears little spectacles
listen carefully
I’m not talking about the horse

a feather so white as to be almost
philosophical
comes down and
tickles Mahler’s chin
he laughs and a letter
falls out of his mouth

actually it was just the insides
of the letter
and of course
its fingertips

it has burnt a horse
in the head of Franz Kafka

now my insides are on fire
he says to himself
and my name will be ash

soon beneath the faceless night
there will be nothing but
my black ears
my two black ears