Bacterial Shores... Poem by GRANT FRASER

everyonceinawhile

that's when it hits me,

like a stain...

a fog caught
on the silver of
my coffee pot,

then the T.V. set,
even the naked mirror,

somewhere lodged
behind the bath room sink,
myself, in the sinking process,

as a stain covers the living
moment as such,

or the damned greasy dirty doorways
of grimy streets, choking on cars,

I visit Alien planets instead
that are much cleaner,
less obscener,

every body the stain
of mission is stamped, approved,

and yet I stain myself
looking back - hard into it,

as if mother nature had dissolved,

finger print of the Astronaut
is all I've got to spare,

no giant step, for me to dream,
that I am free or clean of it,

so did we make this world so dirty?

smudges you decorate
the halls, where hands are
coming and going, with the knowledge,

stuff that barricades the eyes
should fall away in that case,

or sperm that splashes
it's way
through from
the night before,

now dried out
in shapeless form,

we are making our mark,

washing our refuge out,

as clean in this moment,
through the bacterial door...