Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

For a Vision...


Rimbaud said:

'other poets will come -
what will their thoughts
smell like...'

something like that?

maybe I've forgotten now,
or just forged something
of my own onto it, without
even noticing...

when I went to Charleville,
Meziere, twenty odd years ago,

I thought I was going to find
out, what it is to truly see,

beyond...

but I didn't really travel
the right roads,

self conscious scenes
was all I could sense or see,

as if escaping, required, cutting
out a hole, and slipping out of it,

it's so hard to move,
without precoginitives,

yes everything can vibrate
to the point of a lie,

yes purity with smudgy
finger prints all over it -

yeah!

down that oily black liver,
slicked with burst red eyes,

no child of the Sun,
did I recover from the
mocking sea, of your hurtful
voices,

World of action,

the cotton clouds
I tore away by the teeth,
and the white glue
that smelt like fish,

is like a wish,
come true...

and today you must
surrender to the finer
poet animals...

who have no smell!

Submitted: Friday, December 06, 2013
Edited: Friday, December 06, 2013

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