They Found Frank in the Rain, his DNA Staring Truthfully

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sound poem, best read aloud. Any actual sense made is only vaguely intentional.

Submitted: May 09, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 09, 2007

A A A

A A A


Have you heard?

Have you heard?!

The found Frank in the rain.

The found the poor boy in the rain,

Wet and soaking…

(They found Frank in the rain.)

 

But he was so sad,

He was so damn sad, his

Tears fell like card board, his

Freezing jacket, his

River soul, honest and open,

Staring truthfully.

 

You wouldn’t need glasses, no

X-ray goggles, Superman’s eyeballs,

Magic sight, or high tech spy light.

Frank was there, and his DNA,

A shade off the rainbow not soon

Forgotten, like an action movie,

Or Frank’s funny, funny life.

 

Yet Frank was there dripping,

A statue in glory, still as stone and

Cold as stone.

 

Lepers will lecture of this day.

Their lips peeling,

Losing feeling,

Lives stealing away,

Under blankets for the colonies,

The lepers will lecture of this day.

 

But Frank will not be there, no,

Frank and his DNA, in the rain,

So fucking honest,

Like the time all of you made a big deal

Out of that topic, will not be there,

When the masses are gathered,

And a new age is upon us greatly,

Sweetly,

Quickly.

 

Before the winds of change and

Franks frigid gaze is back upon us.

The holy ghost, the shattered mind,

The wonder, the confusion.

You’re asking, “what?”

I’m asking, “what?”

But Frank is telling the truth.

A minute ago,

He was screaming it.

 

But he’s dead, you said,

Your head said, Frank’s dead,

Secret’s shed, and you haven’t been

Led….on.

But not without a fight, right,

Frank’s right too, his toe,

It was so

Still, until, a pop!

Rock rounded river bend bended,

Sounded sending souls like Frank

To a water tank,

To swim with the fishes,

And send your best wishes,

Along with these stitches,

To a mob on Christ’s street.

 

The grid beat, the sugar treat,

The nightly retreat for summer’s

Worn thin, the rain season’s in,

It’s sounding off tin, off tin

And Frank’s body. Off tin,

And his soul, his earthly parole.

 

For a flattering F,

Your boyfriend’s bereft

Of a coin and a rag,

He lost with his flag,

And found in a bag,

Of rain that’s been here,

Of rain that’s been there,

Of rain that found Frank,

In the rain, his DNA staring

Truthfully.

 

Yeah, they found him in the rain,

Alright, holding tight, shaking despite

The fact he was so still as stone, overgrown,

And shown four fifths of a lovers true tale,

Known for a groan and a passable

Frail, old man gray as hail,

Watching lighting strike treetops

Pike, falling through your psych…

-Ology, the human mind,

The human grind,

Frank’s grind,

His lemony rind.

 

Steaming vegetables lined on the plates

To your mother, so that she may smother,

The life from your other

Leper friend, the blind bend

In his wretched mend.

He’d moan and begroan in his

Shakespearean way, yet still to this day,

Your leper will play,

With the words of

A joker

A croaker

A stoker

Of fires long meant to go out!

 

But here I stand plain,

With Frank lying in rain,

The only one sane,

His DNA came, and stared right back

At us truthfully,

Right through us to where

Our thoughts were conjoined,

And umbilical coining of phrases we had,

But have we no more, for Frank is right here,

In the rain, on the floor. We’re all around now,

And Frank is no more.


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