Black'n'red Poem by GRANT FRASER

The seed, a name,
baby smooth,
mother, I'm alive -
crawl inside,
hide...

It's happening!
It's happening!
It's happening!

the violent world
is spilling out...

It's happening!
It's happening!
It's happening!

What can we do?

You've made this room
for months unclear,
the television screen
cries no tears...

If you let the beard grow,
what then?

Here let's kiss,
It's ok! nobodies watching,

Once again out onto the street
it's all stupid, like what kind
of love, could we feel washed in?

Strawberry chocolate flowers,
they're so real, though queer,
searing hot for hours,

A heart to the core,
the damsel for modern day cycles,
greets you, inner clots of blood,
shapeless consistency,
to make of us from assemble glue,

She is a dark forest grotto,
cake of sweet filling, cherry lined,
to the unwritten pillow,
sheds one long silky hair,
and leaves you there -

Like some far out Osiris,
arising from his stone ruin

'Headfirst! '