Leave The Body Poem by GRANT FRASER

The sleep deprived ill
defined moment buzzing
in your scope of moments

to every blink unchanging,

the room, bric a brac
stuff you purchased to make
everything look like home,

then the phone rings,
and you have to explain it,

I'm not good at doing this,

it would seem the roaming thought
feels more comforting and important,
than the salvaged drama of my intentions,

everything floats away, people die!

for me the whole set up
is a form of oblivion,

and one can't simply change
shape,

if we do, it is ever slight,
or it takes a hell of a long
time to see or feel it...

If only I could land upright
inside my head, investigate
the parts, or further their use...

a true journey towards that strange
unclear self,

that chuckling laughing cavorting
supporting aborting - apprehensive divorced,
sense of who or what to be...

I could be his or her friend,
or should stake my words in further,
so that something or someone hears,

the bum, the man lost in the sun,
blank face mirroring the glass door,

whatever thoughts come, they are always
present and moving, and I stop to touch,
I always do, this is what living is truly for,

to literally move out of this insane body,
nervous in it's guise, predictable, stained
by disdain and all that has come to you,

leaving oneself should come naturally,
without the usual anaesthesia...