Journalism In Verse


Frank Ocean “blond”

in Culture by

the way he screeches on
Ivy the way he talks about
bitches wanting those Nikes

his voice a choir, those words
burn fire no reservoir no water
can extinguish so easily. mouth

enduring, moving to shape some
shadow into noise 17 songs swell
a dreamscape, our deepest night-

mares trample fragile sound’s horizon.
Frank Ocean gets my recommendation
a good guy gives us pretty sweet God-

speed on this desperately anticipated
release, finally we have the future and
on Spotify it’s free/if music has indeed

passed then Ocean slow dances us into
lacquered graves, singing “RIP Trayvon,
[he] looked just like me.” syllables meet

the message and its maker on this LP,
showcasing alt r&b in its lushest finery.
perhaps Trayvon breathes below us to

know that he is immortalized in so many
more ways than one perhaps gossamer
child floats to hear his name again, say

it, let us sing it if even for a second, then
for a minute: he may not have looked like
me but I saw the grief, the shattered face

the family, let this album raise him up let
a tide flow free unburdened by the limits
of water of memory Frank Ocean lives as

you live as one body that swims against
a rip current you haven’t been dragged
under– yet but the bones of those who

have decomposed beneath pruny feet
so play Nikes on repeat and breathe
life into the names of ones who can’t

tonight, breathe for their parents, sing
the song for yourself in an empty room
hear your heart hammer between beats

Luna G. Reiley writes across hybrid non-fictive forms. Her work has been showcased by the DeYoung Museum and staged at Artists Television Access in addition to performances at St. Paul’s Church and Alder Manor. She is an MFA Writing candidate focusing on poetry at California College of the Arts in Oakland.


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