Why is the sky
a certain shade of pale.

Today, my soul is in jail
and out on bail.

Look at me,
I am Rembrandt.

Look at my ghost,
watch it dance.

I paint your face
like a carnival,

eat your soul
like a carnivore.

Do you want me
more or less?

When I undress, do you
see a man of success?

When I unzip my skin,
do you see my heart?

Is it beating? I lost
all feeling in my wrists.

Tempest typist,
lunar lunatic.

Wish I was better, I guess
this is what you get.

A poet who doesn’t
know his dreams,

his reality
never met.

My own Van Gogh is
writing me love letters,

sending me words
only I can hear.

Hope this
gets better.

Each word
meant to send

to someone else,
return to sender.


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.