Yes I am frozen.
The flies they sit with me a moment.
No I am not broken
But I could break
But I won’t.

I have this tomato brain.
It’s ripe and when picked apart
It grows seeds again.
You balance me Mr. magician.
Up to your old tricks again.

A beast with the pen
A regular Walt Whitman
Words spoken
The audience liked me then.

It’s funny how you forget
The instant she goes away
That fickle bitch faith, fame,
Whatever word game you want to play.

The schizo is down low effective I guess.
Better then the witness or the hospital dress
Better then the microcosm of sanity and sense.

Is this apathy or empathy.
Your guess.

A name crossed off the check list.
Medicinal mad man with a stiff neck.
A broken collar.
A dog leash.
Drinking again? Depression come in…
You were missed at breakfast.
Sit next to the king and the princess.

I got this.
It’s an anvil and a big heart.
Written in prose you call me when your ready to start
For the pen to move across the parliament.
I read it in a book
Champagne wishes and lithium dreams.
Love- l’oeuf that’s what tennis players call zero
Big goose egg
Where did the rain go.
The desperaciedos of Sierra Nevada.
Of zero.


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