Do you remember when poetry was sacred?

When my mind was free to write rhythms with the rain drops
falling,
the morning whiplashing
away disaster dreams
Something like a phenomenon!
The acid in my throat
Good Morning?

God,
How can I write to get back to where I was? I guess there’s no more text books to fill up.
No more train rides to dodge thugs.
To rip
to tear
to sleep
no more.

In every adieu there is I bid
I go back to the rhythm sticks
How it sticks its legs out and makes you trip all over it.

How distant am I in this breach!

I am the witness of leaches on bodies drowning in caves
Hog tied and wallowing.
Jesus he saves!

Crush the grapes and drink the wine!
Drink in depression
And belch out the rinds.

Brain dissolves in acidic drips?
Mania is as mania does?
Running down the drain again listening to dub.

Drinking in the sun
Mashing up the drugs.

Oh one day one day I’ll be someone!
One day one day disasters will stop!
I will grow wings and fly to the mountain top.

Love will smack me right in my mouth
whip me into shape
The distaste will wander away
like a shade of gray, like Friday’s gaze into a shallow grave.

I will,
find something.
grow. learn. rise.
Sense will save
a life.

And hope that it be mine.

Somehow.
Someday.
Running down the drain.
The wings of a dream,
grow distant
in my memory.

 

Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.