Short Tale Poem by GRANT FRASER

Forget the photography guy,
said one of my muses,

It just confuses,
and now you don't know
what to choose or use,
for a good escape mechanism?

The picture is plentiful
and everywhere abounds...

I like the sound of the button
though, it's like a great poise
in the dark of the light,
reminscent of the soul,
always about to ignite...

There's just a little bit
of heaven over there,
but that'll do,

It's true, my inner map
is infinitely crossed,
and then haplessly scored thru,

Everything I think or do,
is shaped by each breath,

And 'Death', I don't always
avoid it in the great lobby,

Polar friend or fiend;
it would seem,
that great emends should
happen more often,

But what do you really
catch most of all?

But your own tail, tale?

'Tell it! '