Kerloch Poem by GRANT FRASER

I know...

I try to stick
words around
it
like a scaffolding
or a fence,

I do why?

Even though
I lose or walk
off, and forget
where 'am I? ',

(She tried so hard
to punch him in
the eye, the lanky guy,
her two year old,
too young to even
know, with hood up,
blonde curls,)

later, I squawked
like a seagull,
in the passenger
seat of the work van,
so frustrated! ! !

I don't know
what world, your in?

The fate of someone's
else's child,
like a butterfly,

No shades, no carpet
along the hallway,
just muck and degradation

And so many feelings
rolling,
like insensitive waves,

Cut hope, into bits,
stitch it back together
with threads of spit,

Fry it in a open pan;
this, 'I am? '
let the stench rise,
higher!
higher!
than anything you've
ever felt;
at your lowest ebb,

A bit more scaffolding
and who knows...

I just might topple over...

Hoist the whole empty insides
up, out of everything,
and what it all means?