The Other


A voice announced itself.

It moved through wood and words, and met my ears

I walked calm through the forest, where wet palms met.

A pink guide found the shore ahead.

Centuries collided, as stars from yellow explosions,

With the vast black solemn space as the backdrop

Hung on wire and thread.

The clouds paced.

Islands evaporated.

Memories lost weight.

And I saw myself running,

In step with the other.

Twigs snap beneath my feet as winter coats shed their skin,

And thin trips of green and white and always,

Fell behind the path.




Ey Boy! Gro against de will.

Wit that of de other.

Dey come, Da people, Dey see it land-

Land breathes, ne’er falter, Henry, he braces,

He ne’er stumble. Yea?

Ey Henry! You see de waterfall? She up der, waiting,

Skin and mouf Henry, battered babes always listening,

Come the tide to the water boy, tongues always chirping.

She’ll take you to always, wit the all of it all, yea.

You alucky Henry.

She good.

She special. You look in der, you see no dread

You hear no voices,

No strings, no system, no worries, no worries Henry,

She teach sumthin, sumthin you need. Dis ain’t news tho aint it?

Don be eager tho boy, she ain’t no fawn,

She a woman. If you lucky you den, den.

You just breathe boy,

Don be an animal in reflections. She senses dis.

A tingle run like a shiver.

That scent brings a stink, and stinks bring charges,

Be steady on dat path now, watch de backs of places,

Don murmur yur thanks boy, dis aint advice, jus reminders.

Only your lungs yea, nothin elses.

Ey Henry! She human too, her spirit ain’t ne’ver falter, buty the breath boy…

Boy Henry, yull see.

Sorry tho, before you run off tho, gimmie yur ear, befur you get hers, her whisper

It moves further than her voice.

Be matchin ears, recognize yur steps Henry,

It’ll end befur the shudder.

Aw shit boy.

She sees you.

Hurry now,

Shes wise on words, hurry Henry,

Don’t waver, before it’s too light.




A voice lulls him to sleep,

He slips into the forever ending,

In between unmedicated elbows,

The breath between the lull and the twitch,

Waving away as ships move towards the horizon,

Leaving the warm dull moments.

He moves through a pool,

The worst, the very worst,

Is the fear we know

And he knows knowing like a winter coat.

He’s at a harbor.

A harbor free from ills,

Those indistinct rattles and worries.

Thoughts that keep him up

And that thoughts that wake.

He saw nature prepare these four walls,

To give us away into the always;

The ends of zeroes, and between

It began as it ended

On the oily stage of the vast black solemn space,

Falling like stars, like their accidents.

His bones are gone,

Fate meeting their ends,

meeting their beginnings,

He moves like a lurching turtle,

Like the stars that are lulled to sleep in the forever ending,

With winter coats dropped in the orange mist, for blue ships searching for harbors

For mending.




The moon holds court over his creation.

A man with a creaking back heaves bundles of newspapers that plop on the pavement in a spiral of ink and order,

From backs of trucks with words on the side,

That rise and lull with every passing corner,

Passes fruitful between the dusk of dawn,

Always approaching the center of the city, never reaching.

The painter enjoys his morning morning cigarette from the rotting sill at the wide window in his studio,

The ash frolics as it falls past the other windows, other eyes, closed though for now,

Dabbling in dreams that are only of sleeping children.

The son mills about the crop, the wind pushes the peaks running gentle against his palm as a mother would

Taking court over the knee high corn, brushing against the edge of the beauty

The farmer hollers to the boy that breakfast is getting cold and it’s gonna be for the dog if he doesn’t quit dawdling.

The hunter feels a twig snap under his foot, and the flock take off, he swings and takes a wild shot.

The nurse gets off her graveyard shift, dreary eyes sinking into the seat in front of her on the bus,

The wheels and windows and panels caked in linoleum in glass, a zoo exhibit for the modern mind,

And those eyes droop as she meanders towards home.

Children bicker over cereal brands as the steam still rises from the mothers coffee. She is a practiced woman.

Three men propose to their loves in bed, and they make love with the windows open.

The city takes it’s first full breath with lungs wide open.

The newspaper man has the sun in his eye,

It has come to warm over her children.

Life is created from what was created.

And the other knows what separates the mending from the maker.




My harbor is generous.

She nuzzles my head

And loosens the knots in it.

Steady hands on an expert surgeon.

Her grace massages my heart,

Expels the termites to some dark nether region.

The tip of her soul meets my head,

And a world breathes independent.

Her touch lays me down like a baby lamb, in the field,

That very field, of the all, and the always.

My slumber is interrupted by her stirring

An orange mist envelopes her soft soul, gently loving the other.

A translucent light fills her face,

She is still sleeping, and she hardly knows it

As we begin to land

And begin to depart

At the vast black solemn space

The winter coats serve no purpose.




I am curled into my nook.

It is comfortable and warm.

Steam curls from my mug, and I can see out the window.

Winter has set in for the season.

The fat squirrel I’ve been monitoring still seems festively plump,

A stomach filled with nuts and berries.

She keeps the heat up and we nap like hibernating bears,

Sluggish and affectionate bears.

I don’t nap this afternoon, I’m reading a book,

And her and the cat are in their sanctioned spot, she sprawled,

Along the leather couch, and his chin mounted on the bend of her knee,

His billowing  body draped down her legs.

The boxes all hum and glow, and we bask, we bask.

She stirs. 

Our friend is startled from his sleep, and he yawns and trots off,

Pauses in the center of the room to stretch, 

And holds his pose for an extended moment. He then lumbers off

To lap at his water.

Her knee bends across my lap and our eyes meet and she smiles,

Her smile is as strong as her skin; it says, 

I am her harbor. 





The usher tears my ticket.

I find a seat somewhere in the front.

The curtains pull back and the show,

For the vast black solemn space begins.

It is generous.

When there is a lull, she picks up the pace.

When something falls flat, she dulls the pain,

And breathes solid air,

So the always, the all, can be reborn.

She emits a powerful calm,

Holds a taut steady sail to navigate past the jagged rocks,

To hold us through the stormiest weather.

I am her harbor, the distinct known

Where sleep fines us steady, and sure to come,

Like the sunrise below the horizon.

The other steps off stage,

And through the four walls nature provided,

The other offers Henry, The I, The the,

A line to clasp.

Offers something to taste,

The sap of a secret,

Spoken through wet palms that breathe love,

Bustling the path of wine and cinder

She is laying her supple body with the green,

And the young lamb, the white and the always,

Where we  choose to rest.

Her breath flows down my neck, generous.

And tomorrow called us forward,

As the fragile reminders said.

Then the others voice erupted

In a soothing song of promise.


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