Yellow Poem by GRANT FRASER

Whether it be neurons
of docility,

simplicity
as a kind
of high art,

for me,

to speculate with,

your colourful
flowery
big yellow
catches us,
off guard! ,

flashing...
flaming...

pistons!

are you wild or what?

they can't give it
just to
anyone...

and yet colour,

it radiates, reenervates
the whole eye ball,

just big sexy tubes
whirling your streamline
bits, to some cosmic
inaudible sound of time,

your the stuff that coats
partitions in halls,

or is just enough for two
barely insignificant feet
to mow thru puddles,

a universe vibrates through it...

and all the other hidden
ones, where we walk nakedly,
without worry or detection,

unleashed and rash...