Swimming Blue

Polished, cold blue steel nudging the rib of Mr. Wall Street hand over the expensive, buffed calf skin case. Motel room dingy smelles of stale smokes, stale sweat, fake love. Frank sleeps and rolls among stacks of green and dilaudid popers storming his nervous system like anarchrist soldiers. Death a short swim to the other side Of the light. Frank has plenty of pills and plenty of green. "It's a crazy world pops and there comes a time to check out.