Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

MOST USUAL...


The obvious man
in his obvious shoes,
in his obvious home,
pours over his obviously
questioning mind,

It's so obvious, isn't it?
that i will protect my whole
sense of self with an obviously
safe answer...

Obvious, you are a dancer!
to run such circles around me,

For it's no longer obvious,
until reality prods us,
or the fading image we see
is anything other than trust,

Escape is a jump of sorts
into the right extension or
exception, deceptive haze,

Of ideas, already freeze dried,
until you wake up inside her
gasping!

Look - we've been cut away,
umbilically,

Free floating is too obvious,
and may be true, we are of it,
but not necessarily from it,
or for it...

Obvious is what we're stuck in!
and that's when we need prized apart,
or together, but not as often as we'd
like to be,

Looking, surveying, waiting, crying,
for something less obvious to happen...

If obvious were a woman, then why
shouldn't she be made to feel more
like a man,

And he her, in his more feminine
moments,

More so, we are all that beacon
of obviousness too,
(and that's called family connection,
plenty of worry, love when it applies)

Obviously your wondering, just as I am,
or is already grey and ashen, juiced
by all the years, of trying to work
the mystery out?

Obvious, maybe we need to go to bed,
or your already dead!

yeah! or maybe we should try the ill
advised, not exactly obvious thing,
but that would be wholly unspeakable...

Obvious, it's best I finish here,
while I still have a granule
of honour left in me...

Submitted: Thursday, March 14, 2013

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