A day like Euclid said is just a day. A day they said is something that you maintain like a spray tan.

My friend believes in the elegies of the walking dead, and he does it refining his talent for munch man, lady land.

The world you see that I see exists in the cleats of the defeatists. They say you need Jesus, teach this, teach that, look around, they stole your strictness.

Good morning. We all wake up, we all become legendary.
We all become insular characters in some tip cup democracy.
We all want to be Bukowski, or be Mr. Clean, or be something left lingering.

Like darlings, like motion garage sickness.
Like the stolen stampede that does not witness.
The flies buzzing, and the lyrical fitness.
There is nothing in pain that doesn’t produce progress.

That’s why it’s a great day to be an American Ghost, try this, and light this with antifreeze. This is the sneaker ad that they need.

This is the price of a can of coke and weed, a nicotine patch and a full
          arm sleeve.
I have written about angels turning to demons before.
In a poem a long time ago.

My mind was melted so long ago, it doesn’t rewind back and there is no
          rewind, so.
I am an angry marshmallow.
You might say a happy fellow who looks like Martians say complacent.
I sing a song that registers nowhere, and looks clever.
Like deep despair hanging in your basement.

I am a writer, that is my job, a poet, probably.
A writer is a hobby, I am a hobbyist.

A slit wrist on your guest list.
A great day for American Democracy.

 

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.