Few Places Left... Poem by GRANT FRASER

Think of a door
opening,
yet none appear,
then we must vanish
or the world must
turn inside out...

a reversal....

sin, if there is still
such a thing,
I mean
various things
to plague you

the godhead empty,
belief overuled,

oh! yes, goodness
a kind of shield,
yet something that won't
always protect you,

and words
when will
you decide
to double back,

a flavour for knowledge
so unbecoming,

self is it's own
snap shot,
caught
convictedly

your belief's
underdeveloped,
a soul smashed pigment

a blur that catches
the climate...

I can feel the fire,
almost see it
blazing quietly alone,

it is a heat
that never gives
off enough,

it is a private picture
of my worst fears,

in a troubled blue
parking lot above...