The other country
Raymond Federman

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