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

Disaster Be Thy Name

She’s safe, if not whole
and he’s unwanted, broken & insane.

Insanity may seem like a good cause
for forgiveness or comfort
but it’s actually a piss poor substitute.

Quivering on shattered legs,
his spine broken by revelations
gained in his “fall” from a great height…
he fell so far and landed so hard
yet he has never recovered
from the truth of his actions.

The smile from the rickety defenseless monster
seems so sincere that others make note
and inform me of his safety; his well being;
his painful continued death rattle.

This skeleton shell of a scarecrow man
once preached sex and brimstone,
starvation and salvation,
while his inverted path to heaven would save us all
even as he damned us to this forever Hell.

Written by Jason Wright
April 5, 2018

The Truth That We Craved

The boy across the field behind my house
had more in common with me than
ancestors;
most other kids I played with
were related to me
but he was always my favorite

because of the way he looked at me…
Later in life he was damaged in a tragic accident
and our future conversations ceased to be.

In an unseen instant he was ripped away
although he was still alive,
and that’s more than can be said for others
lost in that era of AIDS and ignorance.

I shake the love letter postcards out of my skull
and pick one at random:

I remember his breath on my neck;
the feel of our young bodies pressed together
like the pages of a trashy tattered copy
of a seldom read incest fantasy,
which I will forever remember as the first time that I made love;
the first time that someone I loved made love to me.

His reaching, reciprocated touch was tender,
terrified and then joyous.

His movement: considerate, then brutal within the landscape
of a language that we both finally understood.

In our joining, our words from a hundred lying conversations
gained new meaning and were finally made honest.

His kiss informed me that I was never truly alone.

His cock translated every secret code
I had ever witnessed
in the eyes of countless lonely strangers.

His thrusting within me
within the home of his grandparents…
that place between sheets
and layers of blood magic was always
and will forever be sacred.

My love letter postcard memories
are holy relics
now tumbling out of my decades old skull.

Rectangular snapshots of a time before
we were allowed to be who we truly were…

In a time before he lost who he truly,
secretly had been…

A time when we had dreamed
of a very different future
that had been reflected in
our tangle of shared flesh and blood.

Written by Jason Wright
April 5, 2018

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