Word Lash... Poem by GRANT FRASER

Word Lash...



The heart beat
hardly slow
enough
for us to tell,

what kind of imagery,
or the result it has,

clean through glass,
up walls, or across
vast white ceilings,

or exploding on a
purple bank note,

flume with eyes partly
shut.

abrasive sparks
flying off lips,

to bring birth to the act,

or say -
contact,
with
primordial oranges,

depression
one can taste,
but with a certain zest,

in other words
snap the string of thought,
so words can tumble out,

until a fat one strikes
your head,

open...

and everything in it is lost,
until a slippery long word
between your nervous tight lips,
eats it's way out,

to deliver something not
exactly unique,
and yet after all
these cravings,

lies crowned
in self spittle,
a foam of dead birds...

Thursday, March 13, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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