On the subject of 2019

‘unmarked’ @ remember »

B.H. Fraser

February 5th, 2019.

Filed under 2019,Poems


You said something about a song adventurous

The time I had in my younger self

Both of us in the arms of our mothers

Later as friends

To many in parks or clubs various a nuisance

And after a belly full

Now finding ourselves cripple

Circling almost squat

The shank of a walk

With old dreams and old talk

Our sight severe and at the slightest touch

Is this a secret war between us


To recall what might have been

And now I face you in the street: my old self

A misunderstanding

I wish my love was here

As I staggered towards myself

The trash traffic of food delivered

My last look one of young girls

An angel watching from the pavement

The car crash that is myself

Still living in these flames the tears of these girls

Recalling a trial of strength between one and myself


My stump like an old sack steady


Is lately silent and empty

Found by a lonely dustcart

Still my remains ‘unmarked’ @ remember:

He was a fiery fellow, an eagle

And what might be said of him

In the green black water of this basin

An overflowing pit

As they scrape his brains from the traffic system

The chorus repeats what might have been

He’s still to agree himself as the 52 bus dims its lights

Turning into Kensal Green

Hail to the Chief »

B.H. Fraser

February 5th, 2019.

Filed under 2019,Poems



Hey, Amigo. Yes, Gringo.

You and I we travel in tunnels.

They say this stuff makes you invincible.

So both of us in shadow –

the brain controlling sums alien.

These sums measure the smallest tremble.

Amigo, I notice your hand upon something personal.

And after we are done, I forgot to mention

I’ll be waiting

Escobar, Jesus is coming.



So show respect.

Assist me, assist The Magnificent.

I am invincible on ground unlimited.

And I sit in tower with cup between industry and dust

organiser of the money shot.

In each face

where once were words now is humming.

He is? Tell me he is.

He is: “es nuestro amigo”

We told you before, Escobar, Jesus is coming.



Gringo, this wall you said….

Amigo, it’s likely to account for many dead

but who cares / what the heck.

We have this tunnel of ours:

to enter together and lie there flat wanting,

the sweat of coke, the sweat of ambrosia.

It could be quite a party and I shall lack little:

Escobar, I hope you vote for me.

And you one day for me

when America is Mexican.