I wish
I could return this
God gave me
Change it for
The ability to sell
To hands outstretched.

I wish I could return this
Gift of knowing who was 33 before Larry
(Steve Kuberski)
And how Jerry west
Shot diaper shots and that Jim Loscatoff’s nickname was Loscy

And I wish I could remember to close
The door and lock it at night and before I leave
So Lisa feels safe

I wish Joe didn’t have cancer
I wish no one had cancer
I quit smoking two months ago
Hopefully I won’t have cancer

It’s a fine time to give up

I wish poets weren’t so full of
but answers

All I know is I don’t belong in your company because I don’t sell you something
I give it free
And my numbers don’t revolve around
How many words are in my poems

I’m done believing in the idea that money matters
That I matter

I figured it out

I am worth as much as the medicines
I take times
The food I eat plus

The books on the shelf minus the books I’ve read

I am trying to pretend that this is ok.
To live in between
A dollar and a dream
And the perphenazine in my system

Enjoy the radio silence
It’s all there is left

Of the forty new people who read this
I will be judged for the first time by many

Poetry is a skeleton key
I am the blue lines and white spaces

There is no difference we are all pretty white horses

Defined by the strength of our lifted spine
And the response time of the drunk driver

We are perishable fruits
In one ugly fucking fruit bowl

Toxic as ever
Like the seeds of the pear tree

crumpled up like this poem
On Gods floor


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.