Category: Poems

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UNDER CONSTRUCTION

The previous week
and he was demolished…

A wave of destruction
that left them abolished…

And the light in his eyes
is pain sheened in laughter…

That light in the darkness
could lead to disaster…

But that light reminds me;
combines us together…

Commonality comforts;
so hard to surrender…

And the sound of his songs
and the taste of his lips…

The touch of his hand
wrapped in my fingertips…

And the way that he smiled
with such controversy…

For Bauhaus and Siouxie
and Sisters of Mercy…

The way that he watched me
and wanted and waited…

The curves of his lips
left my own fear abated…

We were both still destroyed
yet acknowledged and known…

For that moment the lonely
learned they weren’t alone…

He gave me that magic
and time somersaulted…

Wave of destruction;
enraptured and halted…

True we’re destroyed
and under construction…

Yet can’t help but smile
at our introduction.

Written by Jason Wright
September 21, 2011

For David Hull

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Momentous Moments

The crow at your door
surprised me…
a vision…

Could not comprehend
it’s ghost like precision…

Crows can be murder
or rapture or rotten…

We entered beneath it
and soon twas forgotten.

I was in your apartment
and very much single…

When the spark in your eyes
made my skin start to tingle…

Though we weren’t alone
and we weren’t together…

I was laying there
hard
and wanting
and clever…

The throbbing
was robbing of fear and of doubt…

The sex of your eyes
made me long to find out
just how you would taste
and I couldn’t hold back…

And alone for just moments
I pounced and reacted
with hunger and lust
at the sights set before me…

You tasted amazing…
You tasted of glory…
You tasted of chance…
You tasted of trust…

But the moment
it faded
and it turned to dust…

Yet within me it lingers…
I know what the crow meant…

For I remain rapt
in the taste of that moment.

Written by Jason Wright
September 20, 2011

For Tom: more than a year after the fact.

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I WANT TO FUCK YOU

When you stand next to me
with smile that you give…

Not reflected in eyes
your disguise starts to give…

And I want to deliver you
into such madness…

Want to wipe out
the ache and the sadness…

Want to eclipse you
and hurt just a little…

I think that you’d like that
and not just a little.

’cause although you’re strong
you’re surprisingly green…

Though you’re black and you’re white
and all shades in between…

And the looks that you give
seem to lie and divide you…

But I so long to see,
your truth
and believe me:

I’d like to see you
with me deep inside you.

Written by Jason Wright
September 20, 2011

For George,

who was told a few hours ago.

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RETURN

You’ve been gone for so long
yet you never quite knew it…

But you’re looking at me
and you know you’ve been through it…

Through all of the darkness
and all of the pain…

The tears and the struggle
that made you insane…

The hurt and the damage
that made you so bitter…

But one conversation
made you start to consider
finding a way
to return to the past…

The joy and the lust
which once held you fast…

The smiling laughter
and the best seen in others…

Finding love in one’s self;
in one’s sisters and brothers…

Expressing yourself
with reckless abandon…

With no fear of judgment
at being so random…

Do not fear rejection
at being so sexual…

Fear affects all;
makes you ineffectual.

So cast off your fear…
Please try if you can…

You aren’t alone…
You still have your friends…

Friends that will welcome you
back from the tragic:

Return to yourself
and remember the magic.

Written by Jason Wright
September 13, 2011

For Charles Lindsay, who inspired my return.

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WISHING

March 26, 2011. This was the last time that I ever saw Sean in person.

Wish you were here
and that things were the same
as they were when I met you
with no one to blame…
with no illness or madness
or distance between us…
I wish you were here
with desire to fill us…
I wish you were riding
and we were together…
I wish we were writing
and we were forever…
I wish that the others
who found you were kinder…
My wishes serve as a constant reminder
that wishes mean nothing in the face of disaster…
I wish I could hear the sound of your laughter…
I wish I inspired it…
Although it sounds sappy…
I wish you the best and hope that you’re happy.

Written by Jason Wright
August 26, 2011

For Sean: who inspired much more and deserves so much better.

Original comments from Facebook.
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Art is a Mirror

Wasting away…
Ten years lost to illness.

The moments
between us
are filled with such stillness…

Cherished,
Exchanged,
Sharing our stories…

With chapters
in common
and frank allegories…

He gives it to me
and I’m touched
without touching…

He whispers to me
and I’m flushed
without blushing…

He leaves me
with passion
transcended to form…

The canvas
is thunder;
his heart is the storm.

The sea of emotion
by these colors rendered;

the work of a man
who never surrendered,

The man in the painting
who’s insides are bruised…

Is haunted by faces
that used and abused.

Some of the faces
are drugs that he’s taken…

Others are ghosts
that still leave him shaken…

Some are illusions,
Others invented,
Some are the sins that he’s never repented.

Others are faces
of boys he’s not dated…

He thought that he had
but they really translated
into nights meaning nothing
except what he’s losing…

For riches imagined
and instrument moving…

The face is the horror
of waiting untasted…

The face is my mirror…

The face of time wasted.

Written By Jason Wright
August 14, 2011

For: Johnny Vaughn, who’s artwork inspired it.

Johnny V passed away a little over 6 years after I wrote this. He was a caring friend when I deeply needed one. He and I had shared history but his adventures had been with people who were only ever on my periphery and I cherished each and every story that he gifted me with. He was also a brilliant painter and gave me the work that inspired this poem, though I also put in as many references to his tales that only he might recognize. I’m gratified that he read this and had such a positive reaction.

Rest in Peace brother.

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Mystery of Preston

From the first moment…
I’ve loved who you are
when it’s only just us…

Nothing distracting the truth
of the two of us.

Just our eyes locked
across voids we can’t place…

The hurt and the kindness
as it lights up your face…

The pain you keep hidden
and the light you can’t see…

I like you best
when you are with me.

Written by Jason Wright
July 25, 2008

For Preston James Clayton, who inspired it.

May he rest in peace.

Comments from when I initially posted this on Facebook.

—-
I met Preston online (where he lied and told me he was older), then ran into him on the streets of Ann Abor, where he was living at the time. On the streets I mean. I was shocked and appalled at his all too common situation; he said he’d been kicked out of his family’s home for being gay. I took him to get dinner because feeding him seemed a priority, which is ironic since I’ve often struggled to feed myself, which in retrospect, might be why he felt like a piece of me despite us never being that close. He wasn’t very clean at the time. I took him home with me so he could take a shower (alone) and I was going to let him stay on the couch for the night. He crawled into bed with me and tried to have sex with me, but I gently explained that I cared about him and that I couldn’t be his lover. I think he was upset about this for awhile, but I would sometimes run into him and his friends at a gay bar or on the streets and we’d talk. He eventually got an apartment and invited me to their housewarming party and I stopped by but I could tell he was going to try hook up with me and I didn’t want that so I said my goodbyes and left. That may have been the last time I saw him. He died of a drug overdose sometime between July 14 & 17 of 2010. I believe he was 18 when he died but my memories of this time are a blur and also, I was never very well informed on his life. I just knew it was sad.

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A Light Among Monsters

“This Little Light Of Mine”,
that’s what they sang,
as they tried to steal yours away…

They bruised you and broke you
and tried to provoke you
in multiple Christian like ways…

A monster, they named you,
They wanted to blame you;
your truth had shattered their lies…

And they claimed to love you;
looked down from above you;
with “love” they said their goodbyes.

But the truth that was spoken
that left your hearts broken:
It wasn’t your fault; you were right…

And now we all see
what they cannot believe:
They were the monsters while you were the light.

Written By Jason Wright
June 16, 2006

For Jeremiah Kenneth Merklinger:
A Light Among Monsters.

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IN THE DEEP END

When I was 17 years old
I met a woman in a hospital room
who told me she’d played pool
with Minnesota Fats. She told me
about her ties to the mafia & how I had
to stay alive so I could wander down New York
streets that I now feel guilty for forgetting.

I never forgot her, or her son, who had once
played with Earth, Wind & Fire. Her son approached
me at the mall – happy to see me alive; his mother had
not been so lucky.

Now I sit at pool tables with a drink, watching others
play what the hospital woman once told me was a wonderful
way to unwind; a way to forget & remember & lose yourself
with no need of drugs, razors, or even friends. I sit here
& watch the players & have my drink, as I unwind & forget
& remember the woman & her last breath of kindness.

Here where the sharks are people of every smile &
shade of sorrow, I observe & am grateful to be alive &
to witness what no one else can understand about the bald
goth boy in the corner who smiles at the actions of strangers;
not for the sharks themselves, though they do amuse me,
but the game itself. It’s beautiful really.

Only last night I watched a great white demon
of a man… a shark with the face of a god, who was
stone cold seriousness while aiming for a shot… You
should have seen this slip of perfection animating around
the table – with nothing but the outcome in mind. In between
shots he was all candy laughter smiles & warm blooded affections.

He said I was: Cute. Deep. Intriguing. Weird was good.

Of course people come looking for sharks here all the time;
they come to capture, ensnare; be devoured…
the sharks know this and are not impressed.

Maybe I’m a mystery to them because I’m not swimming
in these waters out of lust, boredom or hunger…
I’m simply swimming in the deep end of an ocean,
admiring something about sharks that no one can touch.
The momentous emotions that pass
between unblinking eyes
& unflinching hands;
between moisture flecked lips
& steadfast dancers legs.
A swipe of tongue…
A flicker…
A breath…
The glint of light overhead on numbered spheres as they
clash, glimmer, escape solidarity –
through the single deadly thrust of
the pool shark’s decisive wooden lance.

The ghost of a shark lady smiles every time that they play
& then I can smile too, while remembering her with me – as the world falls away.

Written By Jason Wright
August 28, 2002

For Dug “the great white demon” –
& in memory of the hospital woman.

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IAN IS DEAD

Dorian told me
this only a couple hours
ago…

Said that Ian had worked
at Pizza House up until the end.

Didn’t know he was even
back in Ann Arbor…

Briefly knew that Dear Friend.

And as it turns out,
he didn’t survive me…
though he once revived me;
he is cold in the ground.

Only yesterday I thought
I’d write…
only not…
& now to then learn
he’s not even around.

Autumn once told me
she’d written him off…
not worth the cost…
far beyond saving.

He couldn’t stop it…
He couldn’t drop it…
farewells & goodbyes;
all he ever was saying.

Can’t stand the silence.
Can’t stand the staring.
Cure sang he’s NUMB –
No cure for his fun –
Did not really know him
though I never stopped caring.

Written By Jason Wright
December 31, 2001

For Ian

Explained:

Ian was a friend of friends. He was goth, and he had wild black hair that reminded me of Robert Smith of The Cure. He and Autumn visited me at Meijer when I worked there (between 1996 & 1999) and they picked me up to take me to a gallery where Autumn was having an exhibit while the museum was closed. He spoke with me about The Cure’s then new album, “Wild Mood Swings” (released: May 7, 1996) and later, after chilling at the Fleetwood he gave me a kiss goodnight at my car, despite me having a boyfriend in Florida. It was invigorating. My friend Paul had told me all about a guy he was hung up on named Ian but I didn’t make the connection. When I realized our Ians were one and the same, well, I stayed away. But I always liked him.

Ian was an addict. Heroin. Or so I was told. I’m sure it was true as all his old friends seemed to hate him based on his addiction and whatever shit he spewed on them as a result. He moved away. When I wrote my first poem about him I meant to send it to him but the people I asked had all come to despise him and weren’t interested in helping me find him. Later he returned to Michigan, and was actually working in a restaurant that I frequented (which itself was rare), but I never saw him there. He worked with people I knew, but they didn’t know that I knew him. And one night, my friend Carrie got in a fight with him and he left early, and he overdosed. And he died. And he was buried. And I found out maybe a week after all that from Dorian, who was a guy that I made out with once, who was a drug dealer, I think, and he and I would randomly cross paths now and again around Ypsi / Ann Arbor. When I asked my friend Carrie about it and explained that I had cared about him, she didn’t apologize or show any remorse or even the slightest bit of sympathy for me, and this hurt our friendship.

But to have written about him originally as someone who reminded me of people that I’d met in a hospital that I mostly outlived and that I found it comforting that he would survive, and then have him die, was very jarring. And it’s even more so now looking back at all this in 2026, over 25 years later.

And it is impossible for me to think of Ian and not think of “Numb” by The Cure from “Wild Mood Swings” – or hear the song and not remember Ian.

Jason: 05-08-26

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