GRANT FRASER (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)
Four Night-shift Poems
Voices hidden, outlined,
in red sunset,
a brain docked like a
cold frozen grey ship,
hope, too extravagant,
blue may it be,
a rudder through the stony
filled faces of Earth,
echoing! ! !
caught in manifold glances,
I want to be lovey dovey too!
the so called connection,
heart shaped equipment,
not this lump of beating meat,
stopping always in it's tracks,
'so where do you live? '
of my butter dish,
some mad idea,
that some moments are fixed,
locked in motion,
and that the dust in my mind,
or eyes, has settled...
the soft simple serrations I made,
whilst building sandwiches, ham & cheese,
The mistakes, are the mistakes
of a life that I notice,
of a life already lived or still
it would seem,
that 'all', could be the same mistake,
or earth revolving,
to the same acceleration, who knows,
it's the mistakes, that I cannot take
upon myself, to eradicate,
mistake - to me - is everywhere in everything,
important, that I see nothing truly great,
emanating out of other deserved places, either...
'a mistake on my part - I suppose - to not act
in some other way...'.
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