Santo Domingo

I will dream of something which
Floats in the ocean, and skies
Of such enchanting blue that I
Am close to tears on it, a ruined
Man from somewhere north,
Alone, absorbing tropic heat,
Pretending, so long as he can,
That life, his, has concluded
Here. I'll age, my ever-gaunter
Form upon this thing, my fevered
Mind made mush by rising, falling
Waves, and, minimally nourished
By whatever natives, this way, eat,
And fortified by island rum,
I'll drift (the way I've always
Drifted), dream (the way I've
Always dreamed), a thing which
Floats upon the ocean, slowly
Dying, but not sad, though
Tears are in my eyes.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 60 times
Written on 2014-03-28 at 00:44

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