Jagged Thought #294: Ray Gun

 

One rosy ray of sunshine.
I have a ray-gun in my hand, it feels sublime.
The writer in me, stands for the dramatics.
And the other in me, writes for the manics.
And another part of me writes for the parents.
And another part of me writes for the pregnant.
And another part of me writes for the idealist.
And another part of me writes, for the concealist
And another part of me writes for the realist
And another part of me writes all my secrets.
And another part of me writes for the beauties.
And another part of me writes for the behemoths.
And another part of me writes for the fanatic.
And another part of me writes for the bullied.
And another part of me writes for the worn.
And another part of me writes for the movies.
And another part of me writes for the school shooters.
And another part of me writes for the drug abusers.
And another part of me writes for the trigger finger.
And another part of me writes for the choir singer.
And another part of me writes for the drama queen.
And another part of me writes for the played-out scene.
And another part of me writes for the depressed.
And another part of me writes for the obsessed.
And another part of me writes for the babies.
Wondering where it all went, and who is going to save me.
And another part of me writes for the mistakes.
And another part of me writes for the woke, who attend the wakes.
And another part of me thinks he is better.
And another part of me thinks he is far worse.
And another part of me holds a wallet.
And another part of me holds a purse.
And another part of me holds a key to a tenement.
Where the rent is paid, and the gold is heaven sent.
And another part of me holds a two bedroom
And another part of me loses footing.
And another part of me sings for the sullen.
And another part of me sings for the forgotten.
And another wants you to love me.
And another part wants you to free me.
And another part of me wants me to fall in.
And another part of me wants me to trust the process.
Know this life is nonsense.
That all this pointless rhythm and reason is garbage.
And no one will never understand your problems.
Everything good might go away.
As usual, the casual life is brutal.
The sing song world is full of kinks and destroyers
And Rolling Stones and bob Dylans
Joan baezes, and Bhurman missions.
And you are just an aging musician
Who never had a crowd that cared.
Who never had a band to play with.
And no one who really ever listened.

 

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

 

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