Bury It My Self Poem by GRANT FRASER
Bury It My Self
Turning
very quick,
or throwing
dirt
up between
the arch
of my bellowing
legs,
then doubling back,
polishing
polishing
polishing
the word
as my punishment...
thing is,
you will look
like you look,
whether you look
or not...
and once I bury
you again,
then dig you up...
I know it's my bone,
idleness...
no point in living
without some kind of chore,
I know?
but I don't know...
I know?
but I don't know...
any more...
Saliva dribbling...
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4/26/2024 6:15:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
i think you gave at least a part of it away at the last line. but i still don't get the whole thing. oh well, no need. it was 'interesting to say the least. i had a similar chore (to the poet i mean) to make life 'worth' living; i was a u.s.postal service clerk. now poetry is one of my 'chores'/enjoyments/reasons-for-living. thanks for sharing. bri :)