Wandering the streets of Italy.
Anxiety, you’ve never been a friend of me.
On a packed train to Venezia
With my headphones charged,
Now sunglasses, Gratzi Milla.
How things have changed!
Right now it’s 13:30,
And we arrive at 15:29.
A train and a plane ride away,
I still wait for you.
For truth.
For shoes to push through.
The mud’s been slung.
The tongues been tied.
My shoelaces, braces
Braced for pain on a foreign train.
Only when medication runs out
do the thoughts come out.
And we begin to move.
And I wonder who I am writing this to.
Maybe no one…maybe you.

Maybe the one who left me long ago.
Maybe the one who would let me go.
Maybe my soul.
Maybe my angel in chains.
Maybe my wandering princess.
Maybe chuck shoes.
Maybe Musically Beautiful.
Maybe porcelain.
Maybe my baby.
Maybe my drug.
Maybe my itch.
Maybe my orchestra.
Maybe my prosa.
Maybe the ink in her veins.
Has run dry for me.
Maybe I am together and alone
As long as I have been.
Maybe it’s meant to be that way.


Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His new book is Train of Thought.