I feel a rush of blood in my head,
like an avalanche has been lifted.
I am lucky I am alive, that this gift
I’ve been given is in my writtens.
I feel that I can shed
the loose-leaf pages,
like sheets on my bed,
when the heat is overwhelming
and I am tossing and turning.
Luckily writing is the lotion
that tans my skin, keeps me from burning.
Keeps me forever learning, like a kid with a puzzle,
this struggle that I sit back with.
I do stomach twitches, sit ups,
and misfit spreadsheets,
half rests and quarter notes.
The jazz of my fingertips
on the computer keys. Effortlessly,
like a pilot over calm seas.
But usually the water boils over
a witches cauldron till it’s scalding.
Sometimes the energy gets so strong.
that death is calling like London,
And I strum like Joe, on a banjo,
a deadly riddle, the devil
gone down to Georgia,
Zarathustra to Norton with a fiddle.
That sounds a little pretentious,
thinking that my fingertips got venom in ’em,
like a snake got venom leaking from
its cobra clutches, black ink forming puddles.
Is there a staircase I can climb
high enough to reach the pinnacles of my mind?
Hindsight is 20/20, open the third eye
to get some mindset, eyes shut tight like Downset.
Fell in the river, but kept on
swimming upstream. Got the ice-cream
dream melting between madness
and mayonnaise. Billy I sing your songs
’cause Today was the greatest day.
Been better than the days
when the sweater weather,
brings us closer together.
when heaven shines the light
on you and the steam rises
from your winter gloves.
Nothing better than when the snow falls,
It’s hot out right now,
but rain comes, and the snow does too,
not really in a minute,
that’s New England for you.
Could fall apart in one minute,
wait maybe two. A restless leg,
a restless head. About to come
unglued, how about you?
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His third book, Train of Thought 2: Almost Home is available now.