Before Prayer Poem by GRANT FRASER

Sea are you sick,

of time,

and me,

of ships
stampeding
your big
watery lobby,

your
meteorological messages,
little time
to scour shores,

maybe there's a strong box
buried way deep down
in your murky black heart,

with all the answers,

yes!

maybe there's access
to all kinds of things,
unheard of,

it's like there's no analysis
to why everything is like this,

from the more or less of us,
hoping,

time is certainly not ours
to kill,

for they have moulded
all their deities,
poked out all the eyes
of this and that,

and their great enormous
ugly pus's confound us,

mostly hidden from light...

Time, can take me anytime,

so that these molluscs can't grow,

ye know,
they're lining up
their silky pillows,
filled with human breathe,

have brainwashed the dead,
they are,

minds borne of nowhere
and plenty,

Mutants; merely playing us out
from behind.