GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Gunfight with the Creator (reprise)


Poetry like plastic
shopping bags and receipts,

throw-away,

yes words that you can
chuck out - everyday,
of your meteoric life,

I don't like the way,
you sound,

cause meaning
is just complementary,
anyway...

I mean if I tear
clean through your armour,

with an illiterate fist,

just what will I find,
in this great big poet heart,
and the big literary
world that prepared you,

while I squat in some
distant other cupboard
of the mind,

until the word stifle
turns into a trifle,
or even worse a rifle,

yes - the same one
that's been pointing at
me, from the furthest
side of eternity...

through childhood,
and most of my adult life,

waiting to be shot in the head
with true knowledge,

yeah!

something worth each and every
breathe...

Submitted: Monday, December 23, 2013
Edited: Monday, December 23, 2013

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