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I read in a poem once that there
is an "other side of language." 
Well, I'm here to tell you that there's no such other side of
language.
there's only one side. You'll notice this when she says, "I'm
leaving."
Or when the voice on the other end of the phone says, "click"
then
you get a dial tone, which means nothing, at most it means that
the person on the other side of the phone has hung up on you.
So,
it is possible that there is an other side of phones. there's
even
an other side of walls. Sometimes, late at night, you may hear
a grunting and groaning from the other side of walls, this could
be
either extreme pleasure or pain, that is up for conjecture I
suppose.
Perhaps, the other side of pleasure could be pain or vice versa.
This is getting more interesting now, I think. Maybe there is
an
other side of words as they appear on a piece of paper, an other
side of foreign languages, a dark side to the moon. The other
side
of French may be Chinese to the unenlightened listener. He may
be completely wrong in his assumption but he'll still walk
home on the other side of the street, sit on the other side of
the
bus and go home to his other wife who lives with her other husband
on the other side of Brooklyn. Maybe tonight is the other side
of
yesterday or tomorrow will be the other side of next day, we'll
never really know. It is safe to say however that the other side
of
language is, at best, only a whisper and that we'll never understand
what that voice commands. Maybe when that voice whispers from
the
other side of phones then someone who is listening will tape
record
it, play it back and apprehend those who live on the other side
of the
law. Ultimately, we can only hope that our perilous modern life
will
lead to some satisfying conclusion. But then, the other side
of
reality could consist of dreams, which are confusing and sometimes
pleasant. If two people dream simultaneously of the same reality
then they could be said to be a part of the other side of this
poem,
but that would be lying, which is the other side of truth. But
this is
what we'll talk about when we go out tonight to see the
other side of cities.
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Blackbirds crack in half,
that cold here now with this wind,
winter (without you).
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Try to imagine Maui, or at least
half
Of it lying open in the noonday sun.
If not, then Venezuela, stiff cliffs submerged
In velvet dark. Aren't we still friends even
After we picnicked on the volcano, hands
Ripping flesh to sores? Eureka, you said, and
Devoured another eggplant. If this isn't love
Then we must be slowly dying of
Some esoteric discipline.
Suddenly we saw three teenagers topple,
Stoned, over the rim
Into the lake of fire. Forever is the
Word that comes to mind. Don't
Mind telling you that you were always
This beautiful, this alive.
Maybe You'll believe me when
the
Plane is going down into the drink.
Are you sure the bazaar is out
Of innocence? Black lava cools
Beneath idiot stars.
The mini-series rambles on despite
Our lisp. Some lost plane writes no
Conclusion in your skies.
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Custer just got his
at Little Big Horn, cosmic
come-uppance that was.
Tet Offensive, was
not what anyone expects
I suppose, man.
Columbus started
everyone smoking, and now
I'm hit too, (cough, cough).
Hitler payback that
D-Day invasion but he's
still owed a few whacks.
Mao's Cultural Revolution,
Enough said, keep your culture
close at hand, brother.
Big Brother watches,
white collar criminals clog
all those divorce courts.
Critics panned Moby Dick,
now their lifeboat's riding
swells, anonymous.
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For breakfast I make a quick
metaphor
smother it with nouns, stir in
a verb and wash it down with chilled similes.
It's always been like this.
Then I take a walk down historic
sidewalks.
I pass Napoleon conquering his flowers, see
George Washington crossing Delaware Blvd. and
see Einstein sitting on his patio with a few
relatives drinking a beer.
Hitler argues with the neighbors over the
fence while Stravinsky plays his violin
on my last nerve.
You'd think I'd learn.
But, sometime in the afternoon I take a nap.
I still dream of your
realistic eyes.
