Writing in the stillness,
the afternoon brilliance
The wasted prolific.

I think different.

The systems are fluxing
The education relapsing
The mechanics make music.
The sonnet singers
writing fight songs
like Wagner.

I am just musing.
Waiting for the comet.

The caffeine is oozing
Through liquid membranes
My memory is abstaining
My lungs are stiffening
My pupils are dilating
My eyelids are covering
up
something.

The science is loosening.
The clowns are catastrophizing,
plotting and edging.
The delegates are voting.
The ninety-nine are sleeping.
The others are listening
to the rhythm
of each prison door
slamming.
The others are watching
The Voice,
while Apprentices
present presents.
This muse is amusing.

Am I stupified
in this world?
Am I awake?
Am I alive?
Am I murdered?

Am I the one counting votes?
Counting politicians counting votes?

No one can coax
a slit throat
worn with Depakote.

Turn off the T.V
Drinking warm tea
Relaxing me
Warm to the sidewinder.

Waiting for the break to release
My tensions in my neck,
in my head,
In my spastic eyelids.
In my sleep less sleep patterns.

My sleep diet.
Fatting me up.

The voices on the TV
Fill up the room
with nihilistic laughter.

And I wonder
Does it even matter?
Does this really even matter?

 

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