Black Veins In Lustre Poem by GRANT FRASER

I got to get to the salty seas,
you seize, you see,
gotta get, gotta try,
got ta
got ta
god ta

gotta smell
the breeze
of the wiry
hidden leaves
of tired trees,

that fall out
of holy black holes,
backed up inside the
leather walls of chance,

inno sense to events
concerning the artificial
edifice,

thrown from side to side,

the storm created
by a clook,

a microbe of white
cotton

bawling like a badge,

bleeding, virginless...