Who will read this?
I am not sure if my tempered words
hit hard
Or are ever heard
I am not sure if what I do makes a difference
Or if its coincidence that I exist
In an instance,
And settle for long distance, marathons
A hunters paragon,
Lex Luthor’s lexagon
I want to–only for a minute
So I lubricate my ears with music,
I settle down and breathe in
The beautiful air,
No longer a toxic bloodstream
I flow on mixed feelings
And bottle up emotions
With double meanings
I want to shout my presence to the earth
I want to embrace the mold of my former self
And take away its hurt,
I want to dream that I don’t have to take medicine
To tame my liquid thinking
I want to dream, that I am winning
And this world will go into extra innings
I want to be.
And I never can be.
I want to see, but I am blinded by threes

Talking forests of winter trees
Coughing up fluid
Exposed to the world
A matrix birth
A sight to be seen from the doctors hands
The cold breath of a winter world.
Wishing I could see inside myself
And see the truth.
The end of the pendulum
And the story of the seized.

 

Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His “Jagged Thoughts” column appears weekly.

James Conant is a Cambridge artist who has recently added photography to his skills, which include clay sculpture, pen and ink, montages, and pencil art. He is always available for work and collaboration.