With the wind behind me, I sail
into an open blue sea,
vast as ever
I am free in the free flowing air.
Hold on tight to nothing,
love nothing that isn’t there.
A figment of debris, frozen
in the atmosphere.
Something like a stage coach
with nothing to show or share.
Giving no direction, just light and air.
Breathing in oxygen, a mask sealed tight.
My eyes are blinded by the neon light.
I see nothing but geometrical shapes, circles and squares.
I float through into ether.
Never here, never there.
Something in me is comforted by
this overwhelming loneliness.
Maybe I’ll find somebody on my travels.
A road to nowhere is somewhere here.
Some wear blue when they step into the
atmosphere, some have dilated eyes.
And only their pen would know
they had ever even been there.
Something of an adventurer
with a map and a coin to call home.
No one to call, no one to call.
Just air wrestling air into
nothingness. They’ll never expect you
to get there.
So off you ramble into the blue unknown.
Call home, when you find it.
The angel with ripped jeans and yellow hair.
She waits for you, silently.

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.