While working my way
up the mental balustrade,
has thinking already started,
began for I?
all the visuals, smells,
to gnash and leap
cafeterias, places to eat,
cars darting out of brick walls,
slow blue plasticity,
your own image caught
in a red puddle,
your self trials on trial,
is questionable or what?
locks, metals, precious rocks,
hearts, souls, flesh bound, freedom,
have you ever made any?
maybe the egg that is you,
has to feel it's way around
in the light,
smiles open into
other smiling, open crevices,
what if the image runs straight through,
returns to you, like some long
dumb unanswered question?
how answer to anything, ticking
away, like some disreputable bomb!
the truth exploded long ago,
I wonder who was there,
poked it with a stick -ye know?
GRANT FRASER's Other Poems
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