In disco dreams of the demimonde
Harry Potter’s ruthless offspring
offers me some of his poppers,
but I tell him
I enjoy my visions far too much
and anyways, I’ve never needed drugs
to enjoy being penetrated
by words, thoughts or horny
black medical technicians named Robert.
He tells me that I don’t know
what I’m missing
before he shrugs and hoovers
the proffered merchandise,
riding away on his boyfriend’s
upturned open relationship broomstick.
I push through a crowd of 70’s queens,
fruity fudge packers and ambidextrous wank masters
who’ve all chosen to inhale deeply but are undone
by their vigorous Viagra consumption…
They may all have fairy wings
but they’re dropping like flies.
Anxious about anxiety
and tempted by temptation
I ramble back to reality
by way of Central Park’s Tavern on the Green,
which ex-boyfriend swore had been positively decimated…
And just like that,
I realize that realization is as real
as all I now see…
And I find my mind has left behind the grind:
I’m fine as fine can be.
Written by Jason Wright
April 30, 2018
For Joe L & Michael E:
practically perfect in all of my dreams.