Category: Jason’s Favorite Poems

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Casual

In my dream
we were traveling in a car
though I can’t remember which
one of us was driving.

I was telling you that this rift
between us
was meaningless;
that the times we spent
in bed together
were unimportant now;
it was lovely and fun
but that’s all it was for me;
we needn’t be so distant
to prevent us from falling
into old patterns.

You told me that I was wrong and that

ALL of those times ((((MATTERED)))).

In a near whisper: “They mattered a lot.”

It didn’t hurt you that I was unaware,
but you were explaining that your wife
knew how much it mattered to you…
and this is why we seldom cross paths;
this is how the rift began.

And though the past did not hurt me,
it was clear that the past had slowly
poisoned our present.

And our seemingly casual lovemaking
had casualties that I had not been aware of.

Written by Jason Wright
December 15, 2018

For Patrick

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Spectral Subway Stranger

The man dressed in androgynous white
looked like he couldn’t possibly be there,
but he was.

David Lynch Twin Peaks Mutherfucker…

The kind of thing
that Mollie sees
and my father describes
when he’s not on his meds.

No one else seemed to notice.

Perhaps he was a ghost
like that eerie bride and groom
wedding march through muddy springtime
cornfield of my youth.

Written By Jason Wright
December 13, 2018

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Coffee is Criminal

Bleeding and breathing and moving
to accommodate secret meeting of strangers
who are smart enough to avoid
hospital television ramblings
I block out with Endgame trailer music.

I’ve never seen an experienced barista
struggle so much with what was right in front of them – –
the instructions are right there on the side of the SHORT cup
but she removes them to apply them to a TALL
before being told politely that it’s meant to be short –
as she then awkwardly corrects that bizarre error
and then proceeds to get everything else wrong –
which I will not allow.

I paid $4.00 for that
so please fill it to the top
like I asked.

Thank you so much!

Waiting room madness continues
as we’re all pressed into service
for mysterious summons
whose purpose, when inquired
is refused by staff
who ask that we cease to congregate
near the windows…

What are they hiding from us?

Not long before two police arrive,
and then two more…
and then Anna asks me into her office
so we miss the exciting conclusion.

With procedural horror drama behind us
we fall into productive discussions
of PTSD, hot urologists,
respectful penis inspectors,
family dinners and reinforcement –
positive vs. negative –
bleeding and breathing and moving
to accommodate my future integration.

When I reach the ground floor lobby,
the fantastic woman named after an
ancient female vampire asks me for my details
and we witness man being seen to
by a horde of police men
surrounding an ambulance.

Some people need more attention than others.

Written by Jason Wright
December 11, 2018

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Shrouded Enlightenment

Strike the match.
Strike that.
Strike up the band
and burn us to the ground.

Listen to nothing.
Listen to no one.

The deaf,
moved by deepest vibrations,
rise up to meet us
betwixt silence and cacophony;
teaching us how to feel
and interpret the words
they can’t hear
but feel with a depth
which we sometimes lack.

We are blind
and struggle –
reaching out to recognize
the face of reality –
the face of the universe –
inverse infinity –
infinite perversions of intended design.

Revelation yearned for
is as momentous as imagined…
if only for moments
which we believe were imaginary.

Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018

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Toy Soldiers

The boredom of youth
relieved by seduction –
no love or lust;
just blissful destruction –
just practice;
no hardship;
no need for regret –
just beautiful lips
of boys he’ll forget.

Beautiful boys
together in boredom –
the time of their lives
in self enslaved whoredom –
beautiful boys
who’ll one day be men –
who dreamed they were toys
when they would be again.

Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018

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I Think I Have Something

I have the sickness.
I have to express.
I have the thickness.
I have to confess.
I have the wetness.
I have the shame.
I have been sexless.
I have been stained.
I have been tested.
I’ve been observed.
I’ve been suggested.
I have been heard.

I have been labeled
as purely obscene.

I am disabled
by being unseen.

Written by Jason Wright
November 21, 2018

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Decomposition

Regimes bathed in scarlet
ceremony behavior.

In dreams lathed and starlit:
my loneliness savior.

In creams craved by artist
named only betrayer.

Yet I am the harlot
and he only player.

Condition is chalky;
deplores the reboot…

For position we jockey;
he scores and I shoot…

I launch at my folly;
I stream with no joy…

I relaunch and volley;
I scream for the boy.

The stream precedes chasm;
the target is painted…

The dream seeds orgasm
and harlot is tainted.

The player has won
as my body is cheated…

Two halves made one…
disembodied…
depleted.

Written by Jason Wright
November 20, 2018

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The Poetry Table

It’s good to be back
out amongst poets;
amongst these crazy charming
bewilderingly astute
music makers.

Jack-in-the-box,
Jack being less nimble,
Jack jacking off with Viagra,
Jack, the former taxi driver extraordinair
paints us pictures
with his lyrical expressions;
that he also colors canvasses
with actual pigmentation
does not so much surprise me
as it seems to cement his
quirky talent in a far more serene sensation.

The new girl from Astoria
who says that she is old
and that she likes the writing of Robert Smith,
stuns with her humble beauty;
fumbling in the darkness
which prevents her from witnessing
the complexity and artistry of her own
Scrutiny.

Alan IS THE BRONX
or so he tells me…
and if his words are true
than the jittery neighborhood prince
among mere mortals
has hidden all of his treasure,
wrapped in twilight raiments
of endlessly interesting pentameters,
to entertain us all in our Manhattan
SoHo despair.

And Evie (is that short for Evelyn)
wanders in spilling poetry like pennies
for the distressed and the weary
as I side eye temptation to bolt
from the lazy stare
of sympatico hooligans of obscene desire.

One last nameless stranger
and the cycle is complete,
absent other friends
but filled to the brim
with amusement, power and nerve.

Written by Jason Wright
November 8, 2018

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On the Way to Coffee

Hey! I’ve got a LOUD one!

Just the NYC MTA saying F U;
we won’t make this easy
even with American Psycho 80’s cover
lilting where Fearful Tears
once sang you to fever dream kisses.

Quieted by new crowd infusion;
wait for it…
There they are!
“Fuck you!” 3 times in succession.

But well on the way to coffee date
I must silence my own inner voices
and dry the fuck off,
with memory rain outside
like autumn watercolors
smeared in shadows behind my eyes.

Written by Jason Wright
November 5, 2018

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Universal Victims

Last night’s
39 year old child slut
thickened my cock
with stories about seducing stepfather
to save sacrificial sisters before
sex party bareback orgies.

He tells me there’s no need for condoms
if I’m on PrEP…
he smiles at this
through piss stained teeth
as if I don’t remember that he’s poz
and has suffered countless infections,
although herpes, he has also confessed,
still terrifies him.

He’s not without his charm,
this not altogether foreign creation;
he stands as myth; a tall tale
of erotic urban legends.

But it’s his step-story which really makes me
question our reality.

Could this stranger be an alternate version of myself
from monster rat infested Surinam?

This is both too fantastical to be true,
and too close to the truth to not be questioned.

But our shared tragedy
is not truly identical.

Siblings of a kind,
our similar origin stories
are sadly, merely universal,
and not the horrific singular experience
of one fragmented individual.

The places we started are synonymous
and we have both arrived in the same location;
it is only our trajectories
which have truly separated us.

Written by Jason Wright
October 9, 2018

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