Dance in and out of doors. Bedroom farce
Becomes unspeakable tragedy,
Tragedy becomes horror, horror
Becomes boring. If he’d been a man,
A human as real as his author,
Gregor Samsa would have turned into
A human living with the body
Of a bug, in an unfortunate
Turn of events which became boring,
Ordinary. Now every morning
I wake up as just a giant bug.
Every night I go to bed as one.
It would be extraordinary if,
And only if, one morning I woke
To find myself transformed overnight
Into a healthy man. Even then,
Would I, Gregor, be any wiser,
Any more serious than the dolt
Among the mob of peasants shouting
About a witch in The Holy Grail,
Claiming, “She turned me into a newt!”
And then, sheepishly, “I got better”?
No, I’m ordinary as a bug,
Everyone knows what a bug I am.
As a man, I’d be that idiot.
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