Jim Put's At The End... Poem by GRANT FRASER

I Imagine one truly
brilliant line is all
we yearn for,

Or that a space
opens up between
these dry rocks,

And that there is
acknowledgement,
eventful growth...

A pain like
putting on gloves
to dress,

Arrested for
saying things
about the Sun,

If it comes
out right?

No wrong
in seeing yellow,

Orange for my knife,

Eclipsed by each
eye on waking,

You slip from room
to room in yr t-shirt,
boxer shorts,

Trying to fathom,
whether your at
home in the world,

Or that you just
might not belong..

I imagine there might
be treasure somewhere,
buried under all your poems,

God (I know your dead)
yet partly pray,
for some sort of modification...

As I saw my own reptile
one time, looking back,
so distant as to what one
really is, or seems,

Human love...