I could understand why Kafka was so paranoid. There is a dark current that runs underneath Prague. I love this city but Burroughs nailed it. It keeps drawing me back even though it has been a bitch to me. I survive and I go on living anyhow. It’s raining in Prague but it’s still early morning. I guess I’ll be on my way. I’m not sure what other choices exist. I think I could live in this city. That would be a gas. An American poet living in Prague. Oh snap, that’s too cliché.
I’m almost ashamed
I conjure many cliches
but beer will suffice
and the Czechs do it quite well
it can lubricate the soul