Real With A Nail Thru It... Poem by GRANT FRASER

looking for abracadabra,
trying to outwit
the domain,

drowning inside
a sacred
mechanism,
the cheated cog
of predictability,

real
with
a nail
thru it,

blood,

so unreal,
it's not real,

I'm not,
I cannot,
won't,
pretend

stop!

this birth,

it's breaking
out of skin,
and is sex
a full stop
or a comma?

the totem,
and the fruit,
ripe -
for the executioner,

but no excuse! ! !

Killed it
with all the currency,

we must not blame us,

should not perturb,
the dark crib
of black space,

watching, void,
rib caged, strapped!

IN...

or the death grip,
that dust
will blow away,

and never settle...

I have no ability
to make words
travel far,
enough is gone,

and that they might
fall or collapse
like a heap of stars
onto a page
of your searching mind,

I am a kind
of traveller too,
looking
for a way out...

that so many good
humoured vampires
can continue
like this, is insane!

hope
is beyond repair,
and if a ship
were to come
with so many windows
and lights,
I might just be tempted
to disappear,
go with it, find out...