GRANT FRASER (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)
If only I knew more words,
or understood the cause,
behind my defeated form,
or lack of expression?
the world never really
looks like anything other
than what it actually resembles,
sometimes, just some ugly old thing,
belching out smoke and oozing pus,
the river has it's moments,
near Victoria Bridge,
whenever I cross it,
for a time,
makes me think I'm destined...
which is short lived...
with my Camera slung haphazardly
over one shoulder,
I always feel guilty about it,
but that there has to be
some moment out there,
people look at the big black body of
my SLR with a great deal of suspicion,
pervert, photo freak, pretentious shit!
he just wants to catch us at it...
and in my mind I train and retrain it,
or fixate on places that people
seem to feel their sense of being,
but I won't just klik away
for the sake of it!
as I want to enter the almighty bubble,
of everything, as it is, sitting still,
as the vacuum of time,
has no equal!
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