Amoeba Poem by GRANT FRASER

The sun melting
like a soap bar,
time yellowing, and there
for the sake of it,

a room with no excuse to
try...

make an excision
and extract,

a moment
left to breathe in,

this is a story
about the death of

you
and you
and you
you,
or you,

U.

me,
he get
dead slow,
but quick
with a
backward glance,

oh! Earth!

I live on you
it's a troubled jail,

feeling out,

I think the door wedge
is about important as
it gets,

imagine that?

I mean, when I think
I can actually hear
something,
that has never caressed
the air,

is it there,
some kind of proof
to uplift you,

my little purse
and promise in
a vacuum,

as you fall haphazardly
inside your little
world of life & death,

your fresh shirt,
new shoe, one gliding,
troubled book
mouth, each page,
flying, shut!