Back To The... Poem by GRANT FRASER

Ah! this is nothing,
there is no fundamental
left in the lobby of my head,

somebody carries the words
on, in stretchers,

I can't look at any of them,
without feeling like they
are just an accident,

and hurt as I am to prove,
my personal situation,
to anyone,
it is just a unpleasant
ongoing reverberation,

the connection from my
brain to my mouth,
a pretty wobbly cable,

there is nothing for
me to eat, still, word
poverty omissions!

and when I think that
there's something in the air,
I start chasing the old tale!

the moment could drown
and I would still love you,

just to paint thought for
a split second longer,

that's it, all I care for,
want,
to curl up among all the
thoughts, especially all
the one's I thought were dead...