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Poem	on someone else's place it seems to him the land slings distance way out the dirt is dead and the sky seems twisted the beat of the stones is wrong he doesn't know how to say it there are no words no opportunity and anyway what would you say that you're a stranger and this doesn't say it at all he walks with his weapon through the town and from time to time he sees the luscious curl of intimacy the uncommon common life it's dressed differently he can't understand the language rasping and gargling another time he'd be an interested tourist now he's a hunter and the hunted soon they say he'll be freed to retreat home where the earth is vein deep and when he puts his hand on the ground he'll feel it beating but now he can't remember home though he knows the words well enough back paddock Steve's paddock the yard it's just words but now the imam calls and winds a veil around his senses and sometimes he thinks he'll never get back to where he belonged
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