Sharp Poem by GRANT FRASER

Come and look
at my edge he said,

you can cut yourself
if you want,
go on, it's almost
razor like,

it's from me to you,
a sort of gift
from the other side,

one of your girlfriends
made a comment,
she said, it seemed,
that opening up wounds,
was all you did,

and the deeper
the better,

though some might
say, how else
are we to feel
what is there,

as consciousness is forever
drifting,

there are no folds
in the picture,
places to exit,

and if fear itself
becomes a problem,
then, who am I to say?

and so far away,
light years,
humankind,
the oblique instrument,

in a rather shaky
atmosphere,
barking in a silent
filament of Sun,

almost blinded,
what is it to truly feel?

when you are complete at 1.
and nowhere else..