Watching Words Poem by GRANT FRASER

I don't know what the trip is?

the man watching me.,
watching you,
watching one's self,

watching, but in that kind
of I don't know if I know,
what this other pair of eyes,
are doing...

my knowing reduced to a kind
of stone, hard, uneasy to move,
I guessed so much of it earlier,
and it seemed i had the choice
of words to explain,
and then it diminished,
all the little dimnensions
and bridges of the psyche coming down,

my mental mouth scooping up dirt,
eyes turning black!
elementary shakedown,
whereas nothing returns,

but the words and they are
nothing now,

poor and destitute,

not like cell phones,
or diamonds, or fifty pound bills,

words I'm locked up
in my mouth,
and head, brain & breast,

and I wear preciousness
where my mouth used to be,

zipped!