Jack! Poem by GRANT FRASER

Can't get you off
the top of my head,

Excavations...

Knee deep,
then all of me...

I smoke cars & trucks,
breathe sewage,

Can't tell anybody off...

self, is your true dart-board!

We'll just have to keep
free-falling, extolling,
recalling everything that
makes us not want to hide,

Blind as the queer clear light,
I don't need to see through
you, ye know, I can see...

Or I can't, and it's like the
worst fear, for me to die,
around here, without knowing...

Growth of some kind,
the only thing -
left in yr. sights, right?

Put the invisible utensil
inside the soul, and twist,
and writhe, then right up and around,

Self is a vain vein, slow train...
drinking a solitary mouthful, of light,
and words, dangle on slippery mounds,

You better watch you don't implode!
the words that got you your wounds,
are drinking raucous around a table now,
laughing, jibing, cajoling,
with the ghost of Rimbaud, maybe?

I don't even know,
because, it wont come out! ! !

The top of you, is hidden,
as is everything; the mystery,
the whole reason for thinking
this way...it just obliterates you!