Word Sponge Poem by GRANT FRASER

I wonder what I'm
looking at when I'm not
there, and yourselves so
far away from the whole
planet, until every little
politic and big purpose vibrates
with nothing in it...

how beautiful the total
senselessness of it all!

our kingdoms big and small,
reduced to skirmishes for power,

you see there's actors
and then there's other kinds
of actors too, who cannot hardly
tell, that they are merely acting,

this poem, my vigorous moment,
inflates, like the very words
that float about inside me,

some move the other way,
others refuse to say what
they are,

meaning is my impervious
tangle of sense kissing
nonsense,
or like emotions thrown up,
in spite of it,
do you feel my 'nothing? ',
garnished by time,
always running away...

your tongue,
a pink stick so dry,
it plunges down to
the very roots of being,

ah! but every body has to lick,
lips abounding,
with soft red fondling conspicuous
successions of cracked lines,

silence, inside a furtive envelope,
the splash of noise,
and self perpetuating!

riding along your
own mountainous echo,

it was like a vibration
at best,
what you said...

and you left it there,
and the Earth didn't change
one bit,

you asked for some drinking
water at the reception,
and she said yes,

drink as much as you want...

lips, and the door was glass,

almost see through...