GF (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Courier

The hallway grubby clawed
with shapes that form little,
but an obliterated
world that hasn't quite sunk yet,

the royal courier scans
a symmetrical package,
at breakfast time;
a work of good sticky tape
and art,

the door battered,
letterbox less,
creaks open
like a coffin lid,
through a vaccum
of various stenches,
while a pierced horrible
face betwitches,

she does a kind of walk
or is it a prance of sorts?
to entreat her own wishes
that everything has proportion,

the various smells of human
is vast and bed well together
in our effluviums and know it well,

but this is somewhat different
and forsakes a different world,
one of uncleanliness and hell,
shit lying everywhere, objects
discarded!

I hand her the manilla pyramid,
bursting at the edges,
ready to spill out onto the
unkempt streets of this reality,
empty blister packs, already sedate many....

I am the ignorant donkey, weighed
down, more by facts, of a world heading
backwards, with a capital embedded face,
as everything is another big deal down here,

and I who zip back & forth
over so many criss cross places inside,
feel like a bigger part of it!
(given the fact that most already know)

but I'll tack this one up for now!

besides it's not for me to know anything,
I'm just there to do my job,

not visualise all the drug death....

by GRANT FRASER

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