4 Photos Poem by GRANT FRASER

Photo 1.

Burst!

and I was maybe
not as red as I had
formerly been,

floating aimlessly!

kissed by the twisted
sweet wire of your difficult
one's,

planted undecidedly?

we who float, usually
without direction,
or at least detection
from others roaming
with a curse on their brain,

inabilty to see life's
treasure island,
fleeting as it may seem,

self preservation,
a deep solemn investigation
far from material aims...

but the 760' turned,
it's status given ground,

along the true picture of night,
of a desperate crawling world,

and I was deflated
even worse, made to feel,
this is not somewhere to be,

out alone, trying to reenter
a dream;

a smear of red along my
faded tattered waxless jacket,

my mouth swollen,
sore,
a big splattered red sandwich
of awe,
trying to reassemble
the filling of spaces
and missed teeth....

Photo 2.

Cessation

sensation to lips,
gradual...

pursing the numb
bruised crash to the kisser,

the image creeps
into my head,

the violent guy
with incomplete face,

his weird dark
effeminate companion
mooning behind a cap,

the smelly crates
piled orange
in the dark,

the hollows of night
caressing the most
hostile actions of humans
all over this world,

and the flag is petrified
completely blank, or black even,

we are all fluttering
somewhere below,
trying hard to show
that there is still colour
behind our words & actions,

in pursuit of light
I challenge the dark,

but it beat me, knocked
one of my teeth out! ,

chased me into the eyes
of a fierce metal car....

left me standing in the middle
of Sunday night's road,

dazed, with swollen fat lips,
is this really where we live,
is this really Earth?

mother....

Photo 3.

Negative?

cost me £64
for the damage,
which is temporary,

I mean it's dental
camoflage,

but you know
that's what happens
when you get your
teeth knocked out,

and the rookie criminal
how does he pay,
or where's the connection
in his poor head?

it felt good, maybe?

the subjection
gives him a hard on,

and when or if it does
turn to something else,
what will he see,
through his lens?

the occasion may never
hatch,

I have the means to his wants,
or a shade or colour of what
he'll never know,

because he doesn't know yet
how it's truly acquired;

honest perspiration, long shifts,
nights missed next to my girl,
bona fide worlds that never come
into focus, acute mental pain,
I'll say it again, m-e-n-t-a-l!

sleep deprivation is my
determination carved out,

trying to feel it's way
through the sheer daylight,

the wrapper has gone,

I am a product myself,
sold and fully knowing it...

Photo 4.

Flash on!

with powder
in the air,
I am here,
but someone
else is playing,
unclear as my
human windows
can seem...

and yet as remote
as we are,
close, yet infinite
miles away....
I feel it, other
shadows milling
around me,
bawling,
offering curses!

are the stars
so cold to kiss?
will you ever miss
me, when I no longer
look up, or down?

hug yourself
why don't you,
in the cold night,
blisters of heartbeats!
the skin
so taut about us,
already fraying!

I think, therefore,
I'm struck,
caught in the dark,
by the lashes of fear,
that dress their poor
ambitions up with rock,

while the night takes
it's own selfie,

and then burns it....