Poetics Poem by GRANT FRASER

I look for the poetics,
I'm not sure what they are,
or where, still...

are they colours, places,
slanting pieces of shadow,

energy, other lives burning
up in front of me,

I feel the inner fire,
always burning out,

then at some point,
when I can't take it anymore,

returning me,
back to that place,

alright!

you need to get a big word
out - yeah...

or re-emerge,

well strap
me to a chair,

there's nothing more menacing,
than that the whole thing
may be beyond us,

and that existence is nothing
more than thermodynamics,

and so somebody as dumb,
has to make a break for words,

so word meaning, should I die of you?

never to know very much,
until I get beyond this idea,

that the nobody within is more
precious, than the somebody you
are pretending to be...