Tag: Inspired by Aaron Kogut

1 Mother Goose

Saturday night,
Pinocchio arrived at our door.

He was better looking in the flesh,
with the same witty internet banter,
yet fused with that vital magical glimmer;
that liveliness in his eyes.

The supposed Blue Fairy,
the one who actually had turquoise hair,
had fashioned Pinocchio into a real boy
for this blue fairy,
despite the wood that grew between us.

I know what you’re thinking,
but in spite of his need to come calling after sunset,
he was definitively not a lost boy.

Boys that are found to be real
grow up to be fathers of their own after all.

Pinocchio
(respecting the Sabbath)
and having suffered rejection by a prince
(who turned out to be a frog),
left Never Never Land
after the cow jumped over the moon
to visit Elphaba & Glinda
in Rapunzel’s 6th floor condo,
where handsomely dressed
in the emperor’s new clothes
he conspired with my wicked step-mother
to turn me into the double stuffed gingerbread man.

2 Holy Father

My partner,
deep inside of his name twin
as fourth father repeatedly stabs deep
inside of my joyously remembered
childhood cunt.

This doesn’t seem possible;
like a hazy wet dream
brought unexpectedly into being;
twisting the world into impossible shapes
that couldn’t have happened
before Aaron arrived at our door.

And while we writhe and wrestle
into differing rock formations
we fuck repeatedly in that wondrous configuration;
that sexual transmogrification
of inspiration, reemergence & renewal,
a cycle of hunger, thirst, cravings satisfied
and yet sparked aflame without end:

My lover pours himself into him,
as he pours himself into me,
and I pour myself over us all…
and yet we do not come to conclusion.

And at the third movement of the third hour,
this triumvirate charmed me to the spiritual power,
wrought through my flesh twixt symbolic clocks:
I survived crucified on their mystical cocks…
And forgive me for rhyming
for that moment still guides me…
Third time’s the charm
that I took them inside me.

Later,
as time is running out,
stranger friend injects me one last time as I curse.

The penetration is welcomed
yet overwhelming with sensation, vision,
pushing me deeper into myself –
further beyond my walls
where I can finally hear
what my body has been telling me all along.

I grip my lover’s thighs,
looking deep into those thoughtful blissed eyes,
charged connection between us
as man we just met
stimulates my deepest secrets
with the prick that we’ve both just worshiped.

As new father fucks deep into his unwanted son,
with his polyisoprene covered billy club,
my spirit seems to tear in two:
two different Jasons for two different Aarons.

DADDY.
FUCK.
SHIT.
DADDY.
DADDY.
DADDY.
DADDY.
FUCK!

Seven positions. Like ballet.
The Nutcracker: Sweet.

His thick, upturned cock hurts and heals me
with it’s transformative power.

And in the aftermath,
we whisper secrets in the dark…
as we all fail to convince ourselves that we were not
blessed, consecrated and purified.

Blasphemous? Maybe.
But then the truth often is.

3 Prostrated

Today,
during my prostate exam,
Doctor said he was sorry
as he inserted a single finger.
I told him it was fine.

I wanted to say (but didn’t)
that he could use more than one.

I didn’t say
that his finger felt amazing
but was only a shadow of what
I’d felt earlier on Sunday morning.

The exam was brief and painless,
but left me wet.

My doctor is a horrible tease.

The doc says everything’s great
and that there’s no blood;
no sign for worry;
no cause for alarm.

I nearly ask him to try again
but instead I give thanks
while marveling that I remain
both physically and spiritually
intact.

Written by Jason Wright
October 31, 2017

“Prostrated” was finished and released first, but the notes on the other entries were made at the same time and complete the cycle. These were begun in July and finished in October.

Men’s eyes can be laughing sparkle,
heavy lidded with hunger or stupor,
dead with rejection,
ghosted with tears,
shaded with guyliner,
or frosted with burning hatred.

All that matters is that they stare
if only momentarily
into my own.

That mind jolt penetrating to the core of inspiration.

That look a month ago –
with listen and spark,
sex and magic –
has yet to be replaced or forgotten.

There are waves
of imaginary men
rolling toward us
with intended potential excitement
but they seem empty,
devoid of spark.

Aaron squared was more
than a somewhat clever joke.

Expanded healing pleasure / honest friendship,
minus the fantasy lies
that fuel countless tear stained orgasms
with an intense burst
of impossible wet dream madness;
a bruising lust which stings
while it drives senses to extremes –
a Cenobite encounter
plagued by hardships
with luscious pleasures
yet to be realized,
yet to curse or release me
through a torturous curative of transformative sex.

My lover’s name twin is sweet
and tempts me with poli-normative affection…
he shames me with his goodness
in the shadowed eclipse of my darkest desires.

His double penetrations are pure spiritual retreats
which offer to halt my advance into the endless abyss
of my deviant sex drenched day dreams.

I still struggle toward the depths
but their darkness seems twice as blinding
after his personal brand of effervescent sparks.

Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2017