From within
my brutal dreamscape…
the Incubus takes control.
His somber gaze inflicts my heart;
his countenance takes its toll.
For once you’ve drowned
within those eyes of his…
eyes like burning coals:
Their memory will haunt you,
tempt, rape and taunt you…
and torment your immortal soul.
This riveting integration
of arctic death and heated desire,
burns colder than any blizzard
and blows hotter than any Hellfire –
his torrid aura bathes us
as his jubilant sufferings inspire,
he’s the passive assailant –
the willing victim –
he is the conquered survivor.
This archaic newborn…
This pedagogue of innocent corruption…
This algid inferno trapped
within a flesh enshrouded seduction
is an intimate portrayal of pain
and of a generation’s self destruction.
Written by Jason Wright
April 1, 1995
– For Steve –
Who is far too damned beautiful
for his own twisted good!
I wrote this, half in love with this guy that I didn’t know, but hesitant to pursue him. There were good reasons not to, or so I felt. He was quite young, though I met him at a bar. And there were rumors which I later learned were spread by an ex-lover, that made him seem slightly predatory. I liked the word play and I’ve always liked contrasting opposites, and my lust, trepidation, and mistrust (aimed more at myself than at him, given my then recent breakup with a man who had raped me) was clearly apparent. I gave him the poem and hoped that he liked it, though I’m not sure that it’s very flattering. Someone, I can’t remember who, later told me that a boyfriend of his (Matt) who had read it, brought it up in an argument and said that I’d painted a perfect picture of him, which has always made me feel a bit guilty. It felt like something I’d written had been used against him and that hurt me. I doubt anybody remembers this now except me. I mean, people are always telling me that they are astonished by the kind of things that get stuck in my head and this is likely one of them.