Hearing disappointment which matches THE SICKNESS INSIDE ME threatening to overtake me.
Breathe.
The train is already departing one six eight; perhaps this panic is for nothing?
Why do the only loud people in the car gravitate toward me?
Hungry. Terrified and hungry. Some things never change… but I can.
Relax. Breathe.
He cannot hurt me here. She is safe. And I will eat before long.
If the show has begun I will eat without fear and rest, knowing I’ve seen this particular show three times before, and I will be there for Aaron without compromising sanity or the denial of self.
If I make it there in time I will be collected and calm. I will take in this special show with no need of regret for I have controlled my fear and done my best to travel especially on the fucked up weekend transit.
Now relax. Breathe / Ground, and be the Jason that you want to be.
The green wild of summer is fading between us, as the young horned lord smiles at our recognition.
The lilting, hissing piping of ancient heating system.
We’ve been together here before, haven’t we?
So strange at first, that tremulous meeting of strangers, only we’re old friends now, aren’t we?
We know one another.
This place, this collection of rooms is more than what it was when I first entered.
You were spotless… though clearly brutalized, hungry, lonely and welcoming.
You had known others, just as I had; no virgin blood would be spilt on our account.
I wasn’t sure how much I liked you then, but I put on a brave face and did my best because as broken as we were, we both had our needs and the desire to satisfy them.
It was kind of you to select me, despite my noncommittal attitude.
I’m not certain what quality you saw in me… I’ve no idea what ignited your interest and we’ve never spoken of it.
Most of our time is spent silently, if urgently.
In the moment of our joining you were like a part of me that I’d yet to explore.
You gave me shelter in your embrace even as you fed off my desperation.
I understand that our relationship has never truly been romantic but I can appreciate you, can’t I?
I can miss you when I’m gone and recognize how much you’ve helped bring me peace.
This solace, this sweetness cannot truly be forever…
You know it as well as I.
This imbues our activity with a delicate urgency; bereft of permanence we exist in a fleeting moment of movement, connection, separation and acknowledgement of all that we are, which is somehow not diminished, but is actually heightened by all that we lack.
Hold me.
Hold me here as we whisper heated words between only the two of us,
Knowing one day I must walk away from you and find the strength to never again return,
Knowing that I’ll never again be inside of you though a part of me will remain here forever.
Hush now. Don’t weep.
We will not end when we part, you and I.
My silent echo will fill you, completing the circuit between us; never quite actualizing, ghosting us forever until the end of our days.
No one will guess when they see us. No one will sense the stain that we’ve left on one another.
Memory, our only souvenir will be a secret we take to our graves.
But I will always hear you in the piping sounds of autumn, like Pan, greeting me in the desiccated ruin of the green.
But come now, come and let us make the most of nights remaining, when we may know one another without fear, sadness or shame.
You have entered me, as surely as I have penetrated, you are inside of me, and we will know one another for as long as we can remember.
Written by Jason Wright October 26, 2017
This is a love poem dedicated to our NYC apartment on Wadsworth Avenue in Washington Heights. It was written listening to the soundtrack to the 2015 Todd Haynes film “Carol” by Carter Burwell, after watching the movie at home for the first time after seeing it in theaters.
were the words that he said… But I never doubted: in fact always knew… Perhaps I have always denied what is true.
For back in the then years before I was here… Way before Gay had become so damned queer… He said the worst things but his lust was the truth… We traded in barbs but escaped without proof.
“You remind me of Adam…”
(who was absent then, luckily)
“Does that mean you hate me or that you want to fuck me?”
I thought he might hit me for the spark in his eyes… A predator wounded behind his disguise.
And I was so righteous; he’d angered the slut… I should have kissed him to keep his mouth shut… Well maybe not shut while adjusting our lungs… With no lies between the thrusting of tongues.
Secrets of youth stand to leave me here taunted… Seven-teen years and still I am haunted… Did I loathe that man? Did he truly loathe me? Subtexting lust through so·lil·o·quy.
Written by Jason Wright October 24, 2017
For Joel
Back in the late 90s, my friend Karen Edwards got me to chat with her in a gay chat room at “gay.com”, which at the time hosted various chat rooms. There were rooms devoted to countries, states, cities – and interests. In our local chat we made a wide assortment of friends and I dated and / or hooked up with several men from there. There were many people that I never met though, who I only knew as a screen name. I think I stopped chatting there around 2011?
Back in the early days I had a romantic entanglement with Adam Gram. His screen name was GoddessSexyBoi, or something like that. It was on and off again, that relationship. We were never a couple exactly, but we cared enough to cry and have emotional conversations – and though we didn’t end up together for various reason, I cared about him. He later hooked up with another patron named Joel, screen name “Freedom” (I think). And directly after, Freedom became openly hostile toward Adam, which offended me. I defended him.
I later crossed paths with Freedom / Joel at a party (in 2000) – a meet in person party for gay dot com peeps. He was handsome. Attractive. But I still found his behavior toward Adam to be horrible so I resisted. At the club (which I only went to that once, as it was a bit out of my way) I flirted with a boy / girl couple, kissing both, and they were going to follow us to the afterparty (at Joel’s home) to hook up with me, but they never arrived, so I was disappointed. Joel drove us there and there was a lot of weird energy between us, which was hot but tinged with something I couldn’t name. At one point he said loudly for everyone to hear that I reminded him of Adam, to which I notoriously responded: “Does that mean that you hate me or that you want to fuck me?” – which silenced him, and seemed to shake him. I don’t think he ever spoke to me again.
Years later, in 2016 or 2017, I spoke to Adam Gram on the phone and this came up in conversation and Adam said he didn’t really care about how Joel had behaved because he was amazing in bed. lol Which made me see things a bit differently. Not long after the party in 2000, the bi couple reached out to me through e-mail to tell me that he seemed to lose them on purpose – which I wasn’t aware of, but in retrospect, I think he may have done because he didn’t want me to have sex with them. Maybe he just didn’t want them at his house? Or maybe he wanted me for himself? Who knows? There was a lot of drama back then. It seems stupid now. I should have just said what I wanted. Oh well. I don’t know Joel’s last name or I’d share this with him – not because I think it would change anything, but because I feel like writing about someone and not sharing it with them is a little cowardly. I hope he’s happy.
I missed you today. [Same Space / No Connection] My fault, I know…
I hope my lurking didn’t make you uncomfortable.
I hope tonight will give you what my presence lacks.
Hope you can help w/ my phone and SNAP without frustration or exhaustion because I’m terrified of failure.
More than two months without therapy and I continue to struggle with simple exercises of balance and breath.
I’m losing Jennifer and I could lose myself if I’m not careful.
Need to connect with you – with him – with myself more often…
Honest
Lust
Terrified of: Lost
in
Lies
The frightening power when you stroke the keys –
to make me whimper, weep, make me cum with threatened / promised action!
I’m addicted.
Junkie grovelling for scraps of a childhood seduction.
Breathe my dreams to life.
Because Honest Lust Lifted in Longing
may free me from this horrible freedom.
allow me to smile at my expensive joke.
to strip lust naked & make it my slave
until tricks rob me of your magic
and kneel me down
to worship all that I missed today.
He was here more than year; he was here for so long.
He was queerly sincere and shrouded in song.
He was there with despair in mysterious scars…
He was blonde and absconded from bright lights and bars.
But these words obscured are like gospel from me…
My words are not heard by apostle to thee…
Who worshiped and wept though you never knew…
How he stayed where we played as I fade into you.
Written by Jason Wright October 1, 2017
For Mazzy Star, Saint Etienne & the boy (now a man), who made them matter.
– ABOUT THE POEM – The title springs from a word I saw (Delirante) at random when I wrote, which means delirious, which is how I felt at the time. “He’s Gone” are lyrics from the Saint Etienne song “Like a Motorway”. There’s a guy I met in early 1995 in Michigan, named Steve Rink. We were never close but we had several friends in common, went to some of the same bars, read some of the same books and listened to some of the same music. We also hooked up once in an odd sort of circle jerk in summer of 1996. I don’t know him well, but for whatever reason he’s popped up a lot in my poetry, or at least my perceptions of him pop up now and again; I don’t feel like I actually know him that well. I’ve always found him attractive, but I find lots of people attractive and there are many suck people that I never write about at all. So I don’t really know what that means.
When I moved to New York, or relatively soon after, Steve was living in NYC as well. We traded messages about possibly hanging out, but it took me years to adjust to being here. In many ways, I’m still adjusting. And I also struggle with connecting with people. If I’m at a place, talking to someone in person, I’m very good at this. But on the phone, via text or email or whatever, I really suck at making things happen. And so nothing ever did. We were friends on Facebook though and he’s always been tapped into music that I love since I first met him. I loved when he posted about this or that piece that I didn’t know, because I knew that it meant I would most likely love it as well.
Before Steve lived in NYC he lived overseas somewhere. I don’t even remember where. I only knew because before Facebook we were friends on Myspace. He married a man, whose name I don’t remember. There was a video of the wedding and them dancing to “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star, which struck me as perfect. Years later, when he left New York, he posted a video of Saint Etienne’s “Like a Motorway”. And that’s where some of this springs from.
He doesn’t seem to be on Facebook anymore. He’s off being a serious whale watcher / conservationist / photographer. From a far, I’m happy for him. I’ve heard from several friends in Michigan that when he’s in our old stomping grounds that he’s on all the apps. Good for him. Good for them, I guess.
What I’m saying, I think, is that I wish I knew him better. And I miss having music cues from him, because he really did listen to the best shit! But I’m happy he’s out and about doing his thing and I hope he’s happy.
Message came through the wire: betrayal, hallucinogens and lies.
The walking wounded attacked faithful friend before shattering the war radio – Line goes dead.
Shell shocked survivors shake their heads in confusion; refusing to give chase to someone willingly / needlessly running from them.
On the battlefield of life in the trenches of drama former lovers behind enemy lines of friendship crumble to Hiroshima ash, seemingly destroyed and unable to rise.
“Our armor was useless.”
“Our love was easily forgotten in the chaos of bloodshed.”
Your madness is endless, My sadness is friendless,
I will not surrender to man who would end this.
On opposite sides of a battlefield vital…
We sing different songs which have similar titles…
Which share the same message if not the same score…
Four of us there; though it’s hard to believe: Bald Jason, Paul and Darla and Steve.
The latter I stripped in Ann Arbor fountain before baring flesh pressing into his bottom; concealing our pact (which they labeled obscene) and that this healing act had in fact made us clean.
The nerve that in public made time seem to end:
Perving the lovesick with crime through the lense of twenty-one years flashing by in a blur…
The party that wasn’t for the people we were.
A moment of lust that had built beyond reason, Momentous trust in the shadow of treason, A moment of courage acknowledged and shared, Encouraged by touch though we weren’t prepared for the judgment of strangers and friends left outside, as we puzzled through riddles with longing our guide, But licentious struggles are seldom rewarded, For all our successes we may have been thwarted… For the world gazed in fear as if love were contagious… Our fumbled premiere saw us stumble toward greatness.
When I can’t think – When I can’t remember – Can’t write –
I tell myself it’s enough to breathe, dress, leave, walk, ride.
And when I’m lucky something connects like a stranger’s kiss – an excitement fumbling towards inspiration through shock treatment lust or cold water dread traveling / taking me to where I always wish to be.
I write of nothing desperate to not lose what I once believed and forgot and was only reminded of on special occasions like birthdays, anniversaries or when he fucked that goth metalhead drag queen in Budapest.
I write so often that I sometimes can’t meet other writers as I’m far too busy writing.
I read this for the others as the time ticks away after verses and compliments and a shared glimmer in the eyes of strangers.
Really, it was more like I knew people who knew him; an acquaintance.
I thought him straight but kind, possibly manipulative, but when I saw another turn his head I knew that I had been mistaken.
Perhaps he was confused… Perhaps I was confused…
Even when involved with a man I knew, I didn’t quite believe it.
He was like a vision of youth and culture and ideas relating to things and places I didn’t have access to, beyond his possible longing, his desire for his own gender.
The night that he drunkenly kissed me was flattering and insulting all at once.
I gained no access, you see, and though his lust was honest and the way his eyes met mine left little doubt that I was attractive to him, I’ve never quite convinced myself that he wasn’t seeking to make my friend jealous.
I’m no longer friends with the man who had been his lover; nor have I been such for nearly two decades…
I wonder what ever became of this man who glistened in the background of my life.
His dark hair and the way his smile made his eyes dance…
Gustavo.
I stumble for his name in the car as Aaron and I listen to “Giovanni’s Room”.
I hope he came to a better end; he deserved at least that much…
I thought his name beautiful and a fitting word to match his twilit lambent contradiction of a smile.
If he lives, I doubt he has spared me a second thought.
