Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

16th Dec.


Nothing straightforward
about what I feel,

sometimes the heavens
don't exist...

I am a great lurker,
at odds,

working right now,
sleeping, eating,

Christmasitis!

the infinite lines of cars
and people panicing,

we need to chomp our way
right through what we need
to do,

to spend detect-less, and wreckless,

some emotional fraud,

of nobody we wouldn't really
ever help, but our own!

no true good box ever,
with real love written
on it's lid...

no wrapping paper dulls
before we get it home,

ah! infinite Christmas
blues! we share the music,

then some kind of inner
emergency resurfacing...

no vital supplication,
just the victim of our woes,

and all the eternal splendour,
stuffed in a dark hole in space,

and the son of God,
would have thrown a big
rock at the Crystal Palace,

and marched off,

really...

We can't give,
we die trying,

and to do it well?

this is not even
on the programme...

Submitted: Monday, December 16, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, December 17, 2013
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