Powder Poem by GRANT FRASER

Powder



Your ability to rule
everything has destroyed
us,

Your sick status symbol!

what's worse, even the exemplaries
are playing,

I don't know how many towels
I've thrown in, so far,
but at least I admit it!

besides, what else is there?

an honourable death if your lucky,

and dodging,
so much
dodging
in and out
of oneself
all the time,

thoughts
that burn out,

I felt starry there
for a minute...

'Once upon a time,
I believe, or at least
one thought one had
a glimmer of what is was..',

in a kind of neck hold,
I suppose,
and partly strangled,

that would
have been me,

half attempting
to sustain,
what it is,
life should be for,

the advantage to
sort of explain yourself
to everyone,

and not feel ashamed
or despairing...

Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: poems
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