There is a buzzing sound in silence
A hum, a static, a white noise.
The electric pulse of the city is moving
So slowly, rain falling
Gales of wind, fly the planes sideways
The prophets are amused
And the wild are angry
And the pennies on your eyelids,
There was a time when alive, meant a life
A robust breath from the lungs, of the one
Whose breath smells like nicotine and weed.
The coffee stains on her teeth, please me.
She seems beautiful, yet ugly,
And you know how God is touchy about that subject
But God don’t not not love ugly right?
If this is the truth, then the paper planet is doomed.
The sidewalk mushrooms, falling out of crate,
Craters on the moon, potatoes and tomacco.
Growing in different directions.
Glowing neon like soy, in the fields of the unemployed farmers.
The rest is a disarming, a charming take over
A world where the blood of money, and the veins of the superhighways,
And in there lies the cure, a nevertown, nothing man,
Lost and found, so slow…still, like the silence
I hope will numb the dizzy frustration.
The two card monte player, in my head vacationing
In a place where its sunny and raining,
And the torment of the winds, brings us back to happier things,
Playing in the sandbox, as kids.
Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.