Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Golden Square


People - lack of action,

scientific spleen!

I'll wind up like the rest,
waiting, complaining,

but that my death will be bigger
than anything else,

figures...

so I can't disentach my
present identity,

and that's what you might
rightly call the - nobody, nowhere
to be seen,

but here right now, yes, declaring,

if my ideas do not wash up on any
further shores, or the internet explodes,

but should I recover you, meandering
blindly through the present smoke,

this self,

lost as anyone is,
earth must be a freak dream,
it seems...

all these lives and deaths,
worries about money,
secrets for relieving
the body,

strangers with mouths agog,
signals or fleeting signs,

the apparatus is unstoppable,
road signs and window front menus,

invitations to spend and spend...

but at the back of any happy ray,
catching us,
the grim reality pokes jibes,

listen son, attraction to all women,
is like the Sun,

to remain dazzled, even when it hurts
your eyes, and you can't help it!

you watch, get caught in firm nets,

it would seem, that without a God,
the design is all there is and will be,

until all of this is gone,

I feel that dream & reality,
need to merge more often...

than present life will allow...

Submitted: Thursday, October 03, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 03, 2013

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