GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

HARDER TO SMELL SOMETHING...


A man is a man
from a woman,
by a man,
and starts off
like a buttercup
or a daisy,

Then things start
to occur,

There is compression,
a new likes beyond
the brightest star,

It takes on a social grace,
makes you red faced,

All the young women,
even a half decent mum,
whirls like a spaceship
right in front of you,

As something begins
squeezing the whole
landscape of flesh out,
right up in front of you,

Faces rush like serious
waterfalls,
and thunder storms shrink
inside your tight pockets,

You just can't sleep
and start to think of dying...
while everydayness begins
to kill you!

You tag along, go even further
out of your way...

And suddenly it's like the opposite
of holding your breath,
the leathery sweat and silky
spell all mingling together,

She dictates
til Sundown...

Until you miss the last bus home,

Then you part in the dark,
she hesitates, for a second,
as do you,

And that's the scenario
you walk home with,

And the Night sky couldn't
care less...

Submitted: Sunday, March 17, 2013
Edited: Monday, April 08, 2013
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