These rambling skeletal nothings prepare a Shakespeare on the Rocks that will put you to sleep faster than arsenic, absinthe, abstinence or Nyquil.
These holes where people once stood are empty by choice: “It makes for a better tango partner.” she twitters as she looks at your palm, smashes a fortune cookie and calls it psychoanalysis.
These prickly amusements are friendly Goddess daughters when we smile and laugh and congratulate, but let your drowsy mind betray the truth and see them bare their fangs to rip your throated poetry to shreds.
Unless of course you’re doing something which requires respect or silence… because then they’ll be making far too much noise to have noticed.
You feel younger walking hand in hand with new Christmas decorations and ice cream fizzle; turn the music up but can’t block him out: I might as well be at home… this isn’t bad.
Keep it going. (((((((SPIN))))))) And out.
She is smiling through raindrop curtain of music like drug song.
“Drugs are quick.”
He is gay, young, not my type (w/ extra E), but I support his artistry singing in my ears on the train; this Aaron reading Trek…
“Leave” with sudden stop in crowded car.
“Driving me wild” with sadness tremble of wanting but not quite having.
Taste of man sitting next to me. Fantasy haunts us. He knows my thoughts (cuckold mind-meld): a brave fool to play this game.
End this to collapse into memory song of stranger friend…
“No One Knows How It Will End.”
Movie quotes are an invasive comfort and lonely with no one to recognize them.
He was here more than year; he was here for so long.
He was queerly sincere and shrouded in song.
He was there with despair in mysterious scars…
He was blonde and absconded from bright lights and bars.
But these words obscured are like gospel from me…
My words are not heard by apostle to thee…
Who worshiped and wept though you never knew…
How he stayed where we played as I fade into you.
Written by Jason Wright October 1, 2017
For Mazzy Star, Saint Etienne & the boy (now a man), who made them matter.
– ABOUT THE POEM – The title springs from a word I saw (Delirante) at random when I wrote, which means delirious, which is how I felt at the time. “He’s Gone” are lyrics from the Saint Etienne song “Like a Motorway”. There’s a guy I met in early 1995 in Michigan, named Steve Rink. We were never close but we had several friends in common, went to some of the same bars, read some of the same books and listened to some of the same music. We also hooked up once in an odd sort of circle jerk in summer of 1996. I don’t know him well, but for whatever reason he’s popped up a lot in my poetry, or at least my perceptions of him pop up now and again; I don’t feel like I actually know him that well. I’ve always found him attractive, but I find lots of people attractive and there are many suck people that I never write about at all. So I don’t really know what that means.
When I moved to New York, or relatively soon after, Steve was living in NYC as well. We traded messages about possibly hanging out, but it took me years to adjust to being here. In many ways, I’m still adjusting. And I also struggle with connecting with people. If I’m at a place, talking to someone in person, I’m very good at this. But on the phone, via text or email or whatever, I really suck at making things happen. And so nothing ever did. We were friends on Facebook though and he’s always been tapped into music that I love since I first met him. I loved when he posted about this or that piece that I didn’t know, because I knew that it meant I would most likely love it as well.
Before Steve lived in NYC he lived overseas somewhere. I don’t even remember where. I only knew because before Facebook we were friends on Myspace. He married a man, whose name I don’t remember. There was a video of the wedding and them dancing to “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star, which struck me as perfect. Years later, when he left New York, he posted a video of Saint Etienne’s “Like a Motorway”. And that’s where some of this springs from.
He doesn’t seem to be on Facebook anymore. He’s off being a serious whale watcher / conservationist / photographer. From a far, I’m happy for him. I’ve heard from several friends in Michigan that when he’s in our old stomping grounds that he’s on all the apps. Good for him. Good for them, I guess.
What I’m saying, I think, is that I wish I knew him better. And I miss having music cues from him, because he really did listen to the best shit! But I’m happy he’s out and about doing his thing and I hope he’s happy.
Four of us there; though it’s hard to believe: Bald Jason, Paul and Darla and Steve.
The latter I stripped in Ann Arbor fountain before baring flesh pressing into his bottom; concealing our pact (which they labeled obscene) and that this healing act had in fact made us clean.
The nerve that in public made time seem to end:
Perving the lovesick with crime through the lense of twenty-one years flashing by in a blur…
The party that wasn’t for the people we were.
A moment of lust that had built beyond reason, Momentous trust in the shadow of treason, A moment of courage acknowledged and shared, Encouraged by touch though we weren’t prepared for the judgment of strangers and friends left outside, as we puzzled through riddles with longing our guide, But licentious struggles are seldom rewarded, For all our successes we may have been thwarted… For the world gazed in fear as if love were contagious… Our fumbled premiere saw us stumble toward greatness.
When I met him, a prisoner’s attempt to break free.
My relationship. His deniability.
He was so forward the night we met.
Terrifying.
Couldn’t see he was teetering on the brink just to kiss me.
For Josh – Who’s kiss I’ll never forget, who’s random phone calls haunt me to this day and who still has plenty of magic (even if “The Magician” doesn’t recognize it as such).
I scrawled this in my notebook on the train sometime last week and just got around to transcribing it here. I hope it finds you well.
