the other, a reader reading (number one)
J.A. Tyler
Words and words, slipping, bringing and brought out. Dirt. He comes to him with
mouths, waterfalls and phrasing. Lips moving in belts and jabs, stick-moves, leaning into
the middle of things, his brain, his melting frown of a head. Eyes closed, unable to see the
Other lurching down and near him. The gums and his teeth, the Other and his teeth, dipping
and turning in the water of words. Worlds. The churning. The words, the words.
the other, a reader reading (number two)
J.A. Tyler
Words and words, slipping, bringing and brought out. Dirt. He comes to him with
mouths, waterfalls and phrasing. Lips moving in belts and jabs, stick-moves, leaning into
the middle of things, his brain, his melting frown of a head. Eyes closed, unable to see the
Other lurching down and near him. The gums and his teeth, the Other and his teeth, dipping
and turning in the water of words. Worlds. The churning. The words, the words.
the other, a reader reading (number three)
J.A. Tyler
The Other, plucking a ripe cloud from the dim blue gray, through the square corners of
the window, through the clear glass, pulling it to his chest and opening it. Tumbles tumbling
out. Greasing in the air. Harboring their dirt in the nothingness of a room. Guitar
picking, singing. Harmonies and the subtle perched variations of tones on tones, the
Other reading him. And him, he pours down into his sheets, unbreathing. His feet in unmovable
and unmoving shovelfuls. The Other, reading the word dirt and burying him in
it.
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