Artwork © James Conant
This poem is dedicated to the memory of James Conant, Artist and friend of Oddball Magazine. The image here was drawn by James in the early makings of what would become my column Jagged Thoughts. It is fitting that approaching the 100th column that I dedicate this poem to James. James was a great friend of Oddball Magazine, and he will be missed. Rest In Peace James.
We at Oddball Magazine are saddened by the loss of James Conant. This poem will be the only poem to appear today as we reflect on our memories of James.
I see the situation like falling asleep
And waking up.
Three hours late.
For work.
For Life.
For Earth
For Love.
The touch is gone
Like the settting sun.
The heart is worn
Thick blood
Kettle cold.
The sigh is a permanent switch.
Without love there is nothing.
Without love, we are only writers.
Without love, we are only dreamers.
Without love, we are only empty.
With love, we are needy.
And want to be wanted.
We are clues and solved.
We are comfortable
And held like
Babies or guns.
Depending.
Without love, we are only one.
With a hand that holds yours like a glove.
You have won.
Without it, you are a lost page
In a epic
You are sitting watching the movie
Reading the story
But you don’t get it.
Without love.
You are only left to want it.
And the songs of love, they piss you off.
They make you somber. You gravitate towards
Silence.
You gravitate towards anger.
You gravitate towards
Pills to make you forget.
Pills to force you to wake.
And just the realization
That you missed out on something
That could have been
The healing hand.
Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly.
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