48 Random

It’s Thursday night
and I have my group.

Aaron leaves before me
for his meeting
and he kisses me goodbye.

Other Aaron,
the Aaron that we share,
that Aaron messages us both
about loneliness and homophobia.

Mark messages me about my Aaron’s former employers.

I see that Michael is in town and let him know
I’ll be in the village around nine,
near Stonewall,
on Christopher Street.

Christopher calls me on the train
and though the timing is down to the wire
I tell him I’ll stop by if I can.

Poetry pours out of us in faster than usual process.

Michael can see me but I meet him at his hotel near Times Square
to be closer to Chris’s Washington Heights.

We go to Blazing Saddles, Rise past Posh / Industry
to Ivy because the straighter crowd isn’t obsessed with RuPaul.

He drinks margaritas. I drink whiskey.
We talk about our decade old relationship;
how he had fallen for me before I had fallen for him,
only much too late – such terrible timing,
but at least we’re friends now!

We talk about Mark, who messaged me earlier,
how our relationship / friendship extends over years,
and I told him about Aaron / Aaron & Christopher.

I walked him back to his hotel with a quick kiss
and a big hug
before catching the A train (from 42nd to 175th)
where I stumble
sleepily to Christopher’s new apartment
and we crawl through someone’s bedroom window
to take in the remarkable view.

Later he tells me about life
and we trade stories before I stumble home
in the dark Friday morning.

Saturday, Aaron drives Michael & I to
the New York City AIDS Memorial.

Michael saw “Afterglow” the night before;
a wonderful play filled with naked men,
and believe me, I’ve seen them.

We walk to the Stonewall National Monument in Christopher Park,
the Stonewall Inn, past the Ad Hoc Collective Cafe
(where my poetry meetings are held),
past PIECES and then catch a train down to Chinatown & Little Italy
so I can get some jewelry.

Later we head to Central Park by way of Marvel headquarters
and the Columbus Circle Shops to meet some of his friends
who we somehow never connect with.

We walk to the Bethesda Fountain
which we love because it’s in “Angels in America”
and it’s where the Avengers parted ways…
before heading back to Columbus Circle so he can attend
“Naked Boys Singing” and I can catch a train back to the Heights
so I can shower, put on something warmer and go meet Aaron
and several of our friends for a birthday celebration
in Jock Douchebag Heaven
which as it so happens,
ends up being in the Meatpacking District.

Written by Jason Wright
April 15, 2018

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

In the Shadow

In the office
in the freshly minted safe space,
Tina Fey’s lesbian twin
speaks to me of exposure exercises,
the New Yorker, sexual disconnection
& other terrifying topics that
(to my credit)
only momentarily make me think
about hurting myself.

Intense.

But even in the shadow of all of this trauma
Bright Young Man
Scrubbed & Gleaming
catches sight of my mostly random hotness
and the moment of recognition / Attraction / Shared Experience
SURGES <——————————————-> BETWEEN US
signals sent and received
with no conscious effort:

A sign post to lead me back into the light.

“And they say it’s not natural!”

Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018

Gentleman Callers

The gentleman next to me
is charming in his quietude…
when he speaks he is kind
with some type of speech trouble –
says he’s headed down to lower level of Hell,
Beaver, near Wall Street.

He wears a wedding band
made of gold
on his left hand –
his right hand looks broken
while the left hand holds a dusty old flip phone…

Aaron hands me his fancy bells & whistles
and I smile as I read about the war
Sue is waging on my behalf:
Aaron loves me.

Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2018

Access Deride

Scary driver smile.

White car smell
like hated red death trap
that Grandpa ran over
with his John Deere tractor.

It feels tainted,
coated in smoking
unseen masses of
long suffering
desperately grateful
waxen figures
who once had very good days.

The unending drone
from the speakers
is dessicated and obtrusive.

Is this what dead people listen to?

How can the driver stay awake?

My bad.
The driver died ages ago.

That smile, a rictus.

Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2018

Quirky Perversions

FUCK
me in bondage

deny me
erections

rip me
in half
and split me
in sections

leather + dildos

daddies + diapers

A drink
with a kink
can be cockblock
for writers!

Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018

Disconnect

There’s a space between me
and all that I’ve wanted…

Like my lust is a ghost
that has left my life haunted…

Devoid of the spark
that connects me to revery…

Like the life I am living
is only a memory…

A personal history
grown cold and impersonal…

A vacuous dream that had
once seemed so purposeful…

But I know I am there
buried under the sadness…

Married between her pain
and his madness…

They have stolen from me
what we were to ourselves…

My senses can’t deal
because they’re overwhelmed…

And part of me wants
to take time to sort out…

But mostly I want
to rip time inside out!

I want to take all
that has tied me to her…

Be it blood on my hands
or my unspoken words…

Or the things unremembered
that left me to die…

Want to shred that
and shed tears of goodbye…

As all of the pain
that trapped us in slaughter…

Travels back to the past
and then rescues our father.

Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018

A Tempted Isle of View

the need to resist

to persist with the lie

that I’m not a freak

hard to speak when I cry

the need for another

my brother was stolen

incest is best

lest we find our hearts frozen

their rules disobey

by the saying of truth

they want to deny

but inside us there’s proof

our joy will not frown

will not drown in the river

and the ice in their price

did not cause us to shiver

that tremble assembled

of passion and trust

was furthered by murder

attempt on our lust

Written by Jason Wright
April 9, 2018

Fawn

I need to sleep
but the boy in the field
won’t leave me in peace
or admit that he’s real
so I can’t close my eyes
until I have captured
the verdict of spies
that has left us enraptured
by twig and by leaf
by bird and by bone
by fall of rain water
and on him it shone…
the boy in the field
may never be real
but he looks like another
and they have each other.

Written by Jason Wright
April 9, 2018

error: Content is protected !!