I feel the chill
of ice on my knee.
Blankets cover me.
I am itchy.
I am lonely but lucky.
Maybe I’ll name
my first two goldfish
Lucky and Lonely.
Two birds in the mist.
I’ll call for backup.
Let the stage collapse
and lift me away from it.

Listen, I owe you an apology.
All of me owes all of you an apology.
My nakedness has caught up with me.
Strike a match on my naughty.
Set me free.

I am just frozen like a cube in a cup.
Talking to the music
like it has me in its arms.
Like it holds me across like a cross.
And crossed out, I need your love
like the ones that Parisians lock.

Maybe I am just a soul
in a bowl of restless matter.
But you matter.
I am sorry.

I would be buried with 46 books.
But I only have six.
I would rather visit your living libraries
than be buried with Whitman.

I am your love transfusion.
Still waiting for an alien
or just an oxygen mask.
I think you owe me that.
But I love you.
And I’m sorry.

Santigold, we need
to build a wall
of sound
that I can reflect
like an angel
in the airwaves.

 

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.