Brew up your beverage and buckle in, for Karen Greenbaum-Maya’s new collection of prose poems. And don’t bother bringing your memorized version of reality. The poet has another sort of amusement waiting for you, one where past and present are meaningless terms, and the heart of a writer lies exposed for all to judge.

Kafka plays Minesweeper, not Tetris. When Kafka played Tetris, he was buried alive and left with a map of his paralysis. Minesweeper is less grim, even though he is lamed and blinded when the virtual mine explodes under his feet, in his face. His family thinks he writes all night, but Minesweeper is what he does when he can’t write, not yet.

 

--excerpt, "Kafka at the Computer"