Our Time in the Desert

There was a boy…

There was a summer boy
who had us call him Sebastian…
and though this name fit him perfectly,
I was never quite convinced
that this is what his unseen
unknown parents had christened him.

He had traveled cross country
to visit a friend of mine
whom he had never met
or seen face to face.

The friend and I were only ever friends in name only
because our friends were friends with one another…
but we never once connected without the others…
and if he was blind to what was actually happening,
well, I wasn’t going to cross a line
or clue him in;
not when he’d often been as cruel
as the summer wind which
drew us out together that long ago
summertime evening.

Summer boy Sebastian
from exotic southern state
had beautiful teeth
and a slight but sexy drawl
to all his decidedly decadent
turns of phrase
which spoke of unvoiced attraction.

We never acknowledged this aloud
but it was an understanding
between us,
like we were the couple
and everyone else had tagged along with us
for the voyeuristic fun of it all.

Hot, sticky Michigan summer night –
the kind of night that usually drove us
to backwoods skinny dipping pond,
instead lead us to old haunted
devil worshipping sorority house,
near the fancy two-story McDonald’s
where Anthony used to give me free fries…
where we collected on the asphalt
like mardi gras gutter trash
as we exchanged stories…
as Sebastian subtly signaled,
slyly suggested and studied my every glance
with a scholar’s dedicated devotion.

Later, after pink moon drives
with mosquito infested breezes
I saw snow fall in the sweltering desert
which he had finally gifted me with,
ice crystals catching on eyelashes
and melting on our lips
as we said our final goodnight.

I never saw him again.

But he never slept with our companions either…
He waited until the coast was clear
and then fled the scene
before any of us knew
what the night had taken from us…
leaving us as haunted and questioning
as the abandoned and seemingly evil sorority house.

But those moments before abandonment
are always remembered with a sad sort of smile
when I stumble across the miracle he gave me
when he must have known our time
had finally come to an end.

Written by Jason Wright
April 30, 2018

The Whale Trilogy

1

Pain radiates
through smoothly shaven flesh,

Unseen skull
in burning wrapping paper,

I skitter to share
what it seeks to prevent…

The years are a bitch
and I ache to betray her…

For words in this gloaming
are enabled by night…

Even when tinged
with the heartbreak of sorrow…

Thoughts freely roaming
until morning sight…

Might seem unhinged
come the light of tomorrow.

2

There was a morning, a day, a hot afternoon
where I thought my life would change…
where my wandering
had finally altered my direction…
but it wasn’t meant to be.
Perhaps every day is like this for others…
but the day I am thinking of,
the day of sex before the sermon,
I believed that I’d finally arrived
somewhere I was meant to be,
only to learn across the years
that I would seldom ever return,
and I wish I would have known
how special that time was,
how precious those moments.

It’s altogether different
yet somehow the same
when watching you
watching whales…
when the music you share
nearly kills me with it’s mournful beauty –
giving me fever chills and death spasms
before my fever breaks
and I’m allowed to dance
in the trance of our shoegazing
dream pop.

In the fever
all that could comfort me
was the seemingly old
but younger woman
with the ghost on the porch…
An echo of that first reading
joining my pain across two different eras.

3

The first would have been discovery,
and on the very brink of puberty
as I stumbled through that sea of trees
to find a validating fiction.

And now the feeling: brotherly,
yet still cherry stink of nudity
as I’m humbled by our deities
to bind an animated friction.

And the proof
it is not fair
but the truth
is he’s out there
begging for money,
trading sex for drugs hungry
while the whales circle round us
tasting sweetly table scraps.

And the lie
if there is one
is that life
is a shotgun
because life hasn’t drowned us
baby please don’t go like that.

Written by Jason Wright
April 19, 2018

For Sean (Mobley) and Steve and Anthony.

Transformative Moments

Beautiful man sparks
out of the corner of my eye –
– of my consciousness –
The smile in his gaze
and recognition / realization
makes me ache with sorrowful pleasure.

Scott. He tells me his name is Scott.
Not Louis de Pointe du Lac. Not Nothing.
Scott with two T’s.

So much going on behind those luminous eyes –
Eyes that sparked my attention –
Eyes that fit that transcendent face –
Beautiful. He is beautiful
and at least 23 years younger than me.

My 23 years younger self
would have no idea what to say to him
or how to convey what his bravery meant to me
[to the world]
nor how his honesty had transformed him
into this Vampire Angel Masculine Satyr –
I would not have known that ethereal creatures
could be anything so mundane or wondrous as
Gay, Male, Top or Bottom –
or that they could satisfy my base cravings for penetration & kink.

I tell him none of this.

He seems innocent…
brilliant, yes, and undoubtedly breathtaking…
but innocent
and I’m 23 years older,
partnered and flying back to NYC
in just 4 days time.

I tell him the truth:
I tell him I am happy that he has found this place
and wish him well…
mention my old site
and become his Facebook friend.

All this in the same spot where
12 years before
I met Shane, his brother,
the one who changed everything,
taught me to want, to believe,
to stretch and grow,
and who, in the end,
left me haunted for all my days to come.

Somewhere Shane is smiling now
and Scott must see this
joy behind my eyes.

Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018

For Scott Perry

The Pole Vault

Young woman says she’s a slut;
that sucking 7 dicks in 26 years
has ROBBED her of her valuable imagery,
as if her precious virginal appeal
were a STRONGBOX that had been BURGLED
by a gang of 7 THIEVES.

I tell her that I’ve been fucked by nearly 100 men,
I’ve fucked and eaten out 5 different women,
(sometimes with other men inside of them),
I’ve licked and fucked countless assholes
and sucked a multitude of cocks…
I’ve had more than one prick inside me at the same time
and swallowed gallons of various fluids…
and I DON’T feel like a slut at all –
because I don’t permit anyone to devalue my worth.

She says it’s completely different for me because I’m gay
and because I’m a man.

She says that as a woman she must remain

LOCKED UP —————> (((((TIGHT)))))

She envies my homosexual brethren
because we’re allowed to be sexual outlaws.

She excitedly whispers that if she were a FAG
she’d never stop fucking – – –
says she’d use her gay male privilege to
explore every fantasy and
taste every forbidden fruit
in every possible COMBINATION…
to blow her prison door off it’s hinges
with a dynamite explosion
of long repressed desire
long denied satisfaction…
never playing it SAFE ever again.

Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018

Drugs Are Quick

In snowcapped Vermont
artists interpret MADNESS
in nine songs that jangle
pleasantly through
my short term memory,
where they fade away to nothing,
save vaguely happy impressions
of experiences I wish I could hang on to
for longer than Ambien will allow.

Xanax RATTLES in my pocket
as seemingly female
child rearing occupant
makes other passengers
noticeably uncomfortable…
the smell of talcum powder
makes me think of boyhood erections
and vaginal cancer.

The sound of “Kryptonite” comes from
3 Doors Down
and I’m dragged back to San Francisco
drunken backseat passenger ride
from one unknown location to another.
THE MAN beside me is wearing my black clothing,
my leather collar,
while I am wearing someone else’s dress…

What ever happened to that Dorothy looking shit?

So intimate to see him wearing my goth rocker drag
while I feel the cool autumnal chill
on unwieldy knees which have never felt more naked.

…My Head Is Spinning…

Gay gangster rap pours into my brain
as latex allergy flashback rips me in half
on preacher boy’s beautiful blonde cock….
and that last time was totally worth it.

The Midrin has thankfully done it’s ruby stained work;
Thank you Peter Murphy (The Scarlet Thing is actually in me)
and I’m dancing at the Kit Kat Klub
where all orientations
are surprisingly segregated
when angry heterosexual cis-woman
calls me a faggot
before I turn to make out
with her stupidly aroused boyfriend
just to spite her.

Off the train and I stop at random village pharmacy
for cough drops
before Jumpin’ Jack Frost
tells me we’re done:
just 2 more meetings and out…
I’m lucky it’s still Tuesday
because I’m gonna need a drink.

“Do you want to begin?”

Back in the dress I wore
so preacher boy could see me naked,
and I have no idea that 18 years later,
on the opposite side of the country,
I’ll still be scrawling about him singing
“Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered”,
“When You Wish Upon a Star”
and assorted unspeakable lyrics
that he traced across
my unguarded vulnerable ambition.

This part sucks
but it’s just a draft
and doesn’t need to be as perfect
as Cocaine Sex in
countless naked backroom dance parties…
bodies writhing in dark congress,
riding waves in darkened corners –
pain, disappointment, lust & loneliness
expressed in acid light,
opium torture and heroin bliss.

Feed me water.
Slake my thirst.
Let them drink wine!

Just give me cum, prayer, piss and whiskey.

Written by Jason Wright
March 6, 2018

Please Fuck Me Over

I wake and I dream you
exploring attraction…

I writhe / slide inside you
to devise satisfaction…

I fear my own lust
as I yearn for betrayal…

I paint you the saint
to my martyred portrayal…

I cast you as monster
and victim and savior…

I need your desire
your “tricked him” behavior…

I need my destruction
amid controversy…

Your sex exploration
as castration mercy…

We’re two of a kind;
two sides of a whole…

We appear to surrender;
we’re both in control…

But the threat of deception
is cocaine and candy…

The thrill of perception
like a thought vigilante…

Wanders my brain
as it makes sex connections…

And leaves me deprived
of good sense or erections.

Written by Jason Wright
January 10, 2018

Stained Glass Forest

In the sanctum of surrender
playing holy water sports…

Under magnifying glass
reversing grade A book reports…

There’s a blood stain from a virgin
counting sheep in fields of green…

And she spills her seman whistle
as she dreams of love supreme…

But the nightmare gore that drips
from deep inside her broken soul…

Is the church’s sacred sacrament:
excess within control…

Contradicting everything
in screams we all must witness…

Benediction boxing ring
is cream of Christ on Christmas.

Written by Jason Wright
December 3, 2017

This Diabolical Drama

I’m sitting right across from you
when you tell me how much you want to hurt me,
how much it will pleasure you to humiliate me,
how much you want to take what is mine,
use it for your own gain,
and leave me to wander
cluelessly,
ashamed and defeated.

I’m sitting right across from you
but what you don’t see
is that I’m not the man you thought I was,
and all your schemes were mine
before they were yours.

You think he’s sitting right across from you
but I’ve taken his place
and the words that were meant for him;
the words meant to conquer me
and raise you up have given me the greatest satisfaction
I can imagine.

I am afraid,
but it is the fear of an entertainer
about to take to the stage
where my most impressive performance
(which I’ve trained for my entire life)
is about to begin at last.

You are a liar and a manipulator.
You are hurtful and obscene.
But I am something you could not see coming.
And though you wish to hurt me
I thank you from behind my disguise
for you too have an integral role to play.

You, with the help of my co-conspirator,
will push me beyond those boundaries
I have never dared to traverse,
even though the core of who I am
has always ached to cross that line.

And in that gleaming treacherous climax
where all masks lead to the truth,
we will be transformed…

And you, in plotting my downfall,
will bring me to my utter salvation.

Written by Jason Wright
November 8, 2017

Aggressive Regression

A childhood nursery fantasy
has become an obsession of late.

Everyday I become someone else that I love
so that I can have some hope of witnessing
what was once deemed impossible.

Love & trust make this elixir attainable
but I’m driven completely by sex: a walking hardon.

Always a sexual creature…

Always willing and able
to gladly explore any kink
that struck my fancy…

Those demons were expunged upon arrival.

All but this impossibly complicated
riddle of a contradiction.

This place is beyond anywhere
I’ve ever willingly been.

This unexplored erotic nightmare of flesh is:
urgent, vital, joyous at finally receiving my attention.

This dream cocaine has made me into a liar,
an enthusiastic victim,
a nearly celibate slut
who yearns for desolation…
a chance at reconnection with
that hardly humiliated farm boy in
those locker room communal showers.

As a child I held such unfulfilled desires
but put them to bed (where I have now joined them).

By assuring him that everything is
and always will be okay,
I have traveled full circle –
returning through time to bless his lust,
circumvent shame,
encourage exploration,
and guiding him to disregard their influence;
to tame the monsters that would otherwise haunt him
until the day that he once again completed this paradox puzzle.

Written by Jason Wright
November 7, 2017

Prayer of the Post Traumatic

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.

Written by Jason Wright
October 29, 2017

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