I have not put
pen to paper
in some time.

I have written digital
line after line.
Now I only put pen
to paper
to scribble out a
not-so-fine line
of a to-do
or not-to-do,
that is the question?
Did I do it?
Scribble out that line.
On to the next one.

I want a resurgence of ink
to burst like an oil spill
out of the ink quill.
Will it stop, no it never will,
as long as the ticker still ticks,
and the clock ticks,
and the poet has ticks
that makes these rhythm robotic,
symbiotic, chaotic, and distanced.
Like the poet is so
far away from it.

The poem and the pen
is like a prisoner in a pen,
who has a life sentence
but hasn’t served one day yet,
hasn’t written a sentence
of his play yet.
I want to be so far removed
from the poem
that you think the subject
is a jar of clay.
And you wonder why?
Why did they choose a jar of clay?
Is it biblical,
like Judgement Day,
or a 90s band
singing their souls away.
Anyway.

I want to be so distant
from the audience
that I throw a rock in Antarctica
and it connects in Australia.
To let the prose Butterfly Effect,
cause ships to wreck.
Like Friendships, battleships,
and the stripper in Tucson
shaking her hips, or his hips
lovely little freak, the kiss,
you sank my battleship.

And that’s how far removed
I want to be
from this poem,
and the pen,
that it has restraining orders
and a restraining order on that order,
that if you were to mark it down
it would be January 1
and I would be dead and gone.
Like a newborn in a pale wind storm
flying to the edge, torn.
That’s how far I want to be from this poem.

 

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.