Jagged Thought #211: Bukowski’s Breakfast


Free Prose.

Window into the soul.
The whispering wind
Drives me close
To my goal.

Enlightened, survived
Written the word
Tattoed Time on my wrist
And its all about time.

I know I wield a pen.
Its powerful as a beast.
I win, I lose
But I never accept defeat.
Call me defeatist
You take away my muse.
I refuse it.
Music of mind.

Inspired in heightened
What rhymes with Awareness, Miss?
Ask the Princess, Prince?
Ask the Witness, Mitch.

I am aware, read a book by OSHO
With AJ.
Every Thursday we discuss it.
We talk about living in sleep
And how to rise above it.

And man I feel good, the rhythm
It’s a biscuit
Baking in the oven
Glazed over
Smelling good up in the kitchen.

Butter it up, but don’t bullshit me
Try to give me a label.
Labels never fit me.

You give me a diagnosis
I take it and dissect it.
Make it smaller, more tangible
A little bit lesser, then the lessened

Try to empower and remove the negative.
Power of positivity, numb me like a sedative.
Music hits me in my numbers, touchdown Tom Brady.
Not even listening to a song right now.

Just melody in my ingrained membrane.
And I rock this shit,
Till the time on my wrist, shifts
Moves the ink.
Cause I rock this shit
And don’t need a seal of approval.

When I write like I don’t give a fuck.
Then I don’t know why you still do.
I haven’t got a need for publications.
I know I am the bestist.
Modest as ever.
Eat poets like you for breakfast.


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


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