Tired, romanced the idea of igniting the fire,
Batted my eyelashes at death, in a suit and tie,
And I saw death, as he drove slowly by.
And he left me.
And she saved me.
An angel dropped acid on my lucid sky.
It burned my eyes, it signed my signs.
I rode along, thought I was fine.
A roll of thunder, seven seconds later, I saw lightning.
That’s the way to say I lost everything.
And the basket weavers wove an identity,
And the cobra charmer gave me an identity,
And the poetry slams made me a sight to see
And gave me a place to be.
And the ocean gave me oxygen to breathe.
And God gave me eyes to see, and that I can’t look back.
No matter how hard I try to.
Every Cesar has a Brutus or a Judas that lied too.
Butter and bread and insanity said, this suits you fine.
That pine box, that diagnosis don’t define you.
And I walked and embraced the road, and the shoes that I slept in.
I left my vacancy sign out to let the vagrants in.
Soldier of sleep, medicinal victim, pillar holding up the goddamn coliseum.
Wrote my constitution on the walls of the asylums.
And I wrote you letters, all 26 of them.
Many poems, all alone, and you made my house a home.
And Thank You Beautiful, your memory just trickled in.
In this poem about how to forget
In this poem
I wrote to forget


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