Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Yellow Button In The Blue


C'mon infiltrator
is that the best you
can do,

go on, disappear in
the word blue...

I command you...

sudden affectations,
don't quite convince
me,

even if the sky belongs
to everybody,

I'm struggling,
no I'm envisioning
what it is,
along industrial
roads of this city,

sun, dust & plenty
of crap,
hacky old burger vans,
lots of black doggy
jobby bags,
why even knot the things?

and me igniting with
so many different kinds
of fireworks,

just let me burn
all the way down,
right to the ground!

what - explosion's or
dreams probing
around my slug slow lips,

burn what it is I thought,
first...

then force my corpse
out of the space ship window,

to free fall, eyes forever shut,

and if I can't see,
it's because I just can't
get beyond all your lovely
new technology,

and vigorous legs piston
forth, will be no more...

what catches around
the barbed wire inside,

your sentimental whims, pretend
things of challenge, you have
ironed yourself to the more,

and more and more...

but less would I love less,
if you only had a few letters more,

but what would you be...you are
stuck with your mangy little shape
of things,

hold on, as I press my lips
to your four letter body,

kiss less, when you try,
what is kiss...once your
mind goes black...

simple words, when will you
come back, so I can unleash
the even bigger stupid ones,

or fall and flounder among
this hard fixture of being...

Submitted: Saturday, February 22, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, March 26, 2014
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