Word Poem by GRANT FRASER

Word dju want play
with me,
don't put this suit
on, try that one!
until you have
nothing on,

Naked like a rock
hard to define
or simply consigned,
word, lips, mouth & things,

Trimmer or partly missing
along the converser's purse...
word let me poke
your 'O',
I know,
No! ,
has got an 'I don't know,
with a much bigger 'O',
and I partly like that 'O',
for my own cheese board,

Word even if just a little turd,
or a third of meaning
squeezed out like new tooth paste,
with a hint of eloquence,

The fact that I just
need to knead you for
all the right reasons,
and not for rich explanations,

Explode in a mouth!
for all is dream,
and we run back, or this way,
and away and away,

And gather momentum
just to say what we all want to say,

How about some big
safe beautiful world,

just to float in...


II

Sun - Dance,

Several things to think or drink,
a mish mash of who knows....

On your back somewhere in some
post apocalyptic garden;

I was going to grow a soul, ye know,
find a goal, or a true birth to something?

Fidgeting in all inner cages and depth,
prodded by every veritable socket of light,

Myriad flashes of insight, growing wings,
or anything to make you float up, or out of it,

That was a place and it ploughed great
holes in your green lawn of hope,

That all connections you dreamt might reconnect,
is fleeting, for now, and not worth the Earth...

Not until we glimpse the great almighty yoke!
yellower than the yellow sun's infastructure...

Dip us in well, little inconsequential soldiers of keeping
ourselves safe and upright, haunted by things!