Shores Poem by GRANT FRASER

Word
rising
up!

It's me
and it's not,

but meant
for someone or
something else,

word curling
up,
and dying,
like a spent fish,

you make flowerbeds
around them, and I know
little,

too much,
about my connections,
to the planet and other people,

all races!

people
going off
everywhere
like bombs,

with little self explanation,

I do not follow...I know,
such totalitarian destruction,
even your God cannot rescue,

and word your
stuck
within
my
egocentric cage,

I'd be the worst candidate
to save you,
unless for myself,

repetitive trailers,

blood
word
red metal,
sponging!

as the picture
splits into molecules,

psychotropic assault,

and I don't care
because
I am a nobody
with everything
on his mind,

unfortunately using
what was learned
badly,

I like shells though,
there is something in
this,
whether I'm playing
or not,
there is a pattern...