Category: Jason’s Favorite Poems

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THE PARTY THAT NEVER WAS

Like whispers in the dark
corrupted coven of my youth

The matrix of our lives;
a subtle subterfuge of truth

The damage of desire;
a curse both brilliant and Orwellian…

For nothing can save the damned
but the crucible of rebellion.

Our covenant
was destroying us

A sacrifice
was our need

But high is the price of redemption
and all of us would have to bleed…

But someone would have to begin this quest
into the dreaded evermore…

I was the perfect choice for this mission
because I had bled before.

In the fountain of repression
where the battle was about to begin,

I took my cue from another
and surrendered to unholiest sin,

The pain and the pleasure mingled
as they stripped away inhibitions,

And I understood in that moment
the consequences of our decisions.

The danger of destruction
heightened experience beyond any other,

At last we could face the truth of our pact;
we could finally LOVE one another,

And we understood that this blasphemous act
could save or destroy us all,

But nothing could destroy this moment in time;
nothing could make us fall.

Our clothing was torn asunder
in order to change the coven’s fate,

But still the question remained:
Were we in time or were we too late?

In our minds we’d fucked each others’ souls
in our orgy of repressed lust…

Our symbolic salvation:
Eternal damnation
or renewal of friendship and trust?

The surviving coven members
were a breed both tempered and pure,

Defeating disaster and embracing desire
that no power could destroy or inter…

Sex was our drug and deliverer of choice;
denial our insanity cure…

And so this was The Party That Never Was
for the lovers that we never were.

Written by Jason Wright
July 6, 1996

For Paul, Steve and Darla –
and all of the other coven members who couldn’t make it to the party, because it never happened.

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The Incubus

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.

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