The Whale Trilogy

1

Pain radiates
through smoothly shaven flesh,

Unseen skull
in burning wrapping paper,

I skitter to share
what it seeks to prevent…

The years are a bitch
and I ache to betray her…

For words in this gloaming
are enabled by night…

Even when tinged
with the heartbreak of sorrow…

Thoughts freely roaming
until morning sight…

Might seem unhinged
come the light of tomorrow.

2

There was a morning, a day, a hot afternoon
where I thought my life would change…
where my wandering
had finally altered my direction…
but it wasn’t meant to be.
Perhaps every day is like this for others…
but the day I am thinking of,
the day of sex before the sermon,
I believed that I’d finally arrived
somewhere I was meant to be,
only to learn across the years
that I would seldom ever return,
and I wish I would have known
how special that time was,
how precious those moments.

It’s altogether different
yet somehow the same
when watching you
watching whales…
when the music you share
nearly kills me with it’s mournful beauty –
giving me fever chills and death spasms
before my fever breaks
and I’m allowed to dance
in the trance of our shoegazing
dream pop.

In the fever
all that could comfort me
was the seemingly old
but younger woman
with the ghost on the porch…
An echo of that first reading
joining my pain across two different eras.

3

The first would have been discovery,
and on the very brink of puberty
as I stumbled through that sea of trees
to find a validating fiction.

And now the feeling: brotherly,
yet still cherry stink of nudity
as I’m humbled by our deities
to bind an animated friction.

And the proof
it is not fair
but the truth
is he’s out there
begging for money,
trading sex for drugs hungry
while the whales circle round us
tasting sweetly table scraps.

And the lie
if there is one
is that life
is a shotgun
because life hasn’t drowned us
baby please don’t go like that.

Written by Jason Wright
April 19, 2018

For Sean (Mobley) and Steve and Anthony.

Cetacean Sadness

Our shared experiences in the past
seem to mean nothing to those reflected
in the world’s window screen.

I watch them all
hoping for recognition / reconnection
while sister hurts and Sean struggles.

Steve is happy listening to sad songs
which make me weep.

I want to tag myself in a million posts
in every place I’ve ever gone.

Fuck this song.
Fuck this.

Life changes us
and you’re a stranger that I once knew
or at least I thought I did.

I have pictures but they don’t seem to matter;
they don’t seem nearly as real as yours.

I tell you the secret in the past
but you are blind.

I dive for real love
at the beach house
with men that I trust
while Lauren Moloko Hatchie St Vincent
(actor out of work in the radio Dept.)
decides the time is now
to try to speak your true name
amidst disarray antidotes,
preoccupations with daysleepers
and their creation…
and now the meaningful
nonsensical rhyming must begin
as we fade away to nothing important:

I get a little blue
as I listen to your tunes
as I Facebook stalk your trek
across the place I never knew…

And Sean is turning tricks
paying rent by sucking dicks,
and nothing really matters
if our lives are candle wicks.

But I want to visit woman
with the ghost out on the porch…
want to live my life again
when I am out of sorts….
want to read of witches
as my fever threatens soul…

Your aura ghost echo
(lost orca in ghetto)
and only espresso
can make us both whole.

Written by Jason Wright
April 19, 2018

error: Content is protected !!