Sitting with the pen,
the magician man back again.
Sense in a dimension.
Light them up
as the record spins.

The break in the beat,
watch it.
It’s a tonic, intoxicating
rhythm alcohol,
call it what you want.

I am a robotic restoration
Give them what they want.
Write down in Serif font,
Is that all you got?

I am a piano man
tapping the keys.
Got an MPC,
but the beats they produce
are poetry.

I can look
at the Rubik’s Cube
and solve it.

I can catch the hook
like a fish called Wanda.
I can swim through
each break beat
like Bermuda triangle,
dangle a hook,
and let it dangle,
entangled in a web
of hatred from them,
who ain’t him.

So I write a jagged thought
in my rugged diary.
I sit next to the Buddha,
Miss Misery next to me.

I could draw your reaction,
But I don’t see pity.
So I mask up, put my headphones on
and listen to the sound of the city.
It stays with me.

From breakbeats
to sick ass beats.
The beats they stay with me
As my heartbeats in four four,
I write more, they want more,
I give them more.

My mind swims with witches
and demons, angels and DJ’s,

I am a half measure
from being better.
I am a half measure
from being forgotten

I am, I was.
I am over.
I am just waking up.
I am rusty,
I am sharp as fuck.

I am stuck,
I have loosened up
like gold dust.

I am, I was.
I am over.
I am just waking up.
I am sharp,
bloody to the touch.

This is to
the high-strung,
the strung-out,
the never was.


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 at the Oddball Book Store.