An Ode to Frank Ocean
- 18h
- 2 min read
/ Poetry /
Never fuck someone you wouldn't wanna be
Because you really do become them.
Just ask me
As I hang here still
Stuck between the teeth
Of the last man who bit into me.
I know why they call it consummation.
The want that I placed in him
Metabolized into a hymn
And coughed up as blood
Staining crisp white ties and handkerchiefs.
I think I can always tell
Which Frank Ocean song is about a man
By how somber it tastes.
Someday I hope I'm as famous as the first man
Who broke his heart.
That someone's love for me is so apocalyptic,
We have no choice but to become something else.
Maybe he'll make me into a goose
Or a harp
Or a touchstone
Or a bedazzled cock ring.
You know, I always thought I'd make a mean
BMW 2002
Just enough room inside me
To pack up all the bodies
And hard feelings and still
Have space enough to make out to Higgs in
While I warm up.
Self contained and aware
Of each other's form.
What a bummer that Lacan makes no sense
To the world
Yet the world makes so much more sense
After you've read Lacan.
It's never enough to get what you want in this life.
Like the singer in the swanky suit
After the wedding
When I straddled the driver's seat
And flossed his teeth.
He said what he really always wanted
Was to be great.
The horn blaring,
At once my hands hardened into hooves.
Velvet locks of wool burgeoned
from my skin in lush and
pure shades of white just begging to bleed.
He cut his teeth
On me until the hunger in him
Grew tired, not full.
“Well. This is awkward now isn't it.”
He said, dabbing the corners of his lips.
And my, how I've changed strewn
Across his tongue. My fleshy altar
Or projector
Or mirror.
Guess you can't have your words and eat ‘em too
Like a singer that won't sing
Now that he's realized
What we give,
These words can't hold.
These words can't even hold.
By God, these words could never hold.
