A man named Never
wasn’t walking home
he took a long train down
to a place that – in English –
means “one bridge”
He spent his last stolna
and wagered his bearings to be on that train
he had nothing to give
no north star, no moss
Never doesn’t know English
He doesn’t know any language except pidgin.
His parents named him by pointing in a dictionary
to erase his clues.
This morning a Jehovah Witness knocked on my door.
You sound solid, sad, without couth. without graces.
I kept looking at his silent protoge, a kid in freckles.
The old man asked
if I thought it was possible for the world
to get any better
And Never walked across my head.
He lives in the future and follows lots of maps.
I said yes but only if we accept
that these current paradigms work no longer, my friend.
That includes your religion, my friend.
That includes your suit, my friend.
That includes the peculiar assignment of rights, my friend.
But then, where do rights come from?
why can’t we admit it’s just us?
The man at my door reads a passage from Revelations.
I wonder how hard it is to be snatched.
god’s little baby hostage
The man asks me what a good world looks like.
I ask him what this world looks like.
I said “we both wonder, my friend,
and I admire your will, my friend,
I’m glad you know the answer, my friend,
but I don’t live here,
and neither do you.”
Never puts his hand on the doorknob.
“No one is ever home,” I tell him.
But he doesn’t understand a word.