Acacia, burnt myrrh, velvet, pricky stings.
—I’m not so young but not so very old,
said screwed-up lovely 23.
A final sense of being right out in the cold,
(—My psychiatrist can lick your psychiatrist.) Women get under
All these old criminals sooner or later
have had it. I’ve been reading old journals.
Gottwald & Co., out of business now.
Thick chests quit. Double agent, Joe.
She holds her breath like a seal
and is whiter & smoother.
Rilke was a jerk.
I admit his griefs & music
& titled spelled all-disappointed ladies.
A threshold worse than the circles
where the vile settle & lurk,
Rilke’s. As I said,—
Franz Kafka’s signature in a letter to Milena Jesenská. It reads:
Franzwrong, Fwrong, Yourswrong/ nothing more calm, deep forest.
Prague, July 29, 1920.
Letters to Milena. Franz Kafka, trans. Philip Boehm. New York: Schocken Books, 1990.
Kafka and Jesenská met twice: once in Vienna for four days, and in Gmünd for one. Kafka gave her his diaries at the end of his life.