contents




The Other Country

 There are no doors
 no windows here
 you enter from the wings
 where living hurts
 you drag yourself to the center
 you crouch
 under a grey canvas sky
 and you wait
 near a dead tree
 until they come to beat you blue
 to stone you half-dead
 then you crawl inside a wooden box
 to sleep it off
 your bones dry of marrow
 dust in your mouth
 sometimes you hear voices in your head
 or the croaking of frogs
 in the morning before the pale sun
 you perform the gymnastics of the mind
 doubled-up like a centaur
 and you wait
 you wait for the shy moon
 to roll into a ball before you
 movement a heresy
 but one day another man comes
 who carries his life in his hands
 he too must perform
 so the day can be saved
 even if the moon never returns
 and laughing is a painful process



contents