GRANT FRASER (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)
Hits (Off The Cuff)
From 100 or so hits, to none,
What do i expect from words then,
That they are embedded and refuse to go,
I figure the next string will
save me from something I cannot
put words too...
Who am I, I mean what is this,
You Poemhunter poets,
Meaning has got me by the throat!
Do you know what I don't know?
You just rise out and up,
My brain like some old
Waiting for the big soup of stars
to open up and release me...
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Comments about this poem (A New Kind Of Carpet Called 'Poets Eyesore' (ex. Hinterlands) by GRANT FRASER )
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