Category: 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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Life Amongst Memories

I

Tumbling through my phone
I notice that Jamie Bloom
is still listed amongst my favorites
and I realize it’s been more than a year
since I’ve seen her.

The realization is somewhat jarring
but I choose to smile as I look back
on a year that was some kind of trial by fire;
August in one year, October the next.

“Do you have a worksheet?” I ask Anna,
who tells me that I’m six steps ahead of her,
just like Jamie used to do!

II

I jot these things down in my notebook
on October 9, 2018,
but when I transcribe them to this work,
it’s more than a month later
and when I search to spell her name correctly
I find video message
singing amongst sleeping cables
and smile for all those she’s likely to help
save themselves.

Written by Jason Wright
October 9 & November 29, 2018

For Jamie, obviously,
but also for my selves
and for Anna.

It was a tricky year
but we made it!

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Pyre for the Soul

Sunny November
by gray clouds divided

Transport through city
in which she resided

Curtained car window
hides salt of New Jersey

Uncertain widow
denies fault of fury

As light traces leaves
between skin and desire

The recently grieved
believes she’s on fire.

Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018

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“De-crucify the Angel.”

Scott Weiland sings to me
in performance once dedicated
by Michigan Bryan
years before his building caught on fire
and Scott Weiland had died.

The Weiland ghost does not understand,
continuously encouraging me to
watch Lost in Space on his television,
which makes me smile
the saddest of sad smiles.

One charming copy
of a beautiful dead man’s soul
does not resurrect
all the beauty we have lost.

Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018

For Bryan Alfaro, who introduced me to
Scott Weiland’s “Barbarella” in a most appreciated fashion.

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The Underland Bathhouse de Jour

Beneath the great city
lies curious Underland,
Where the man on the train
takes up three seats
with unabashed manspread…

He’s not unattractive
if I squint
with his head between his knees
in relaxed, if awkward pose.

Why does my brain
always sexualize everything?

Oh. Right. I’m a dude.
Sometimes I forget.

In my sex starved brain
he’s a nameless bathhouse hookup:
“Lose the towel.”

  • But wait! – The way still life subject
    just crossed his legs
    is decidedly GAY
    and I realize the object of my fantasy
    is actually cruising me,
    even as he clears his throat
    near mid Central Park
    and his bathhouse counterpart
    spreads himself open
    to receive the affections
    which his flesh and blood inspiration
    would clearly choose to enact. Only this man is taken
    and White Rabbit late.

    Written by Jason Wright
    November 29, 2018
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The Transcendental Purgation of Christian De Gré’s Wallet

Here are the words
of this object’s confession:

I’ve spent a great deal
of time pressed against Heaven.

But being so close
when denied holy union.

Was torture at worst
and at best just confusion.

I thought to be free
would release me from Hell.

But the Devil arrived
and enlightened my cell.

As he retched me free of
true Heaven’s embrace.

I found Hell was Heaven with my Hell replaced
by actual suffering; actual pain…

He showed me my torment
had been my own shame.

My own unacceptance
denied my admittance.

My disillusionment
blinded by brilliance.

My savior was there with me
there all the time.

But I failed to see
and denied him three times.

So Devil came calling
and caused my catharsis.

The damned saved my soul
when I saw light in darkness.

And burned in the bright
of that unholy day…

I learned what is right
and yearned not to stray…

Burned by transgression
and melted like chocolate…

Returned to the Heaven
of Christian’s back pocket.

Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018

For Christian De Gré’s wallet,
you lucky bastard.

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Wrong Head Denied

You were lost in the dark
and I sounded absurd.

Exhausted remarks
left you feeling unheard.

I swear that I heard you
and I feel regret.

I’m aware I deferred you
and caused our upset.

My only defense
is a timeless cliché.

My lonely pretense
is a rhymeless betrayal
of love and of care but
was truly attraction:

Thought overwhelmed
by the prime crime of passion.

Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018

For Aaron

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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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