Swimming with the Ocean

 

“Swallow the pill & I promise you’ll see.” Frank was keen

as he strapped rocket boots to his feet & flew.

I think we bought them in a Brooklyn bodega dream,

pondering over words & how a blank page is our greatest enemy.

 

We traded world stickers, see, about how he’s the black dream

& we’re all drops of dye in a cup of cat’s cream

that is the world. Though he’s from New Orleans, Frank

mixes the meanest cup of lean I’ve ever seen & we take it

to Coney to see the sea & those who buried dreams

by the white margins six feet deep.

 

We’re writers madden by fever, fingers on ink triggers

with nothing but a dream in hand & a cold Harlem nutcracker

in the other. Frank knows I’ve been here forever like I’m

tethered to this universe with a knack for pushing borders &

heating the ether. He looks beautiful against the sea & he’s

someone that I need to be: a dancer on the meter of words,

a drifter between tongue & teeth, the cleverest orator

 

& he’s the most enlightened speaker I’ve the pleasure to meet.

Frank says Brooklyn’s got the body of a woman, vastly

different from his Angel’s Desert. He says my sky dreams in

Pink & White creams because its daydreams are unclean,

smeared by those who just can’t seem to sleep.

He walks to the infinite seam of the beach, where the waking

& sleeping worlds meet. Smiling, Frank says, “When you get there,

do you think everything is there that you dreamed of?”

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s