Tag: Poetry: 2017

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July of December

Nothing to write but I feel like it’s coming.
Waves are still crashing. Heart is still humming.
Jumping through hoops to receive your bouquet…
The truth was delivered on Brian’s first day.

Brian was there in two-thousand winter.
First month of year pierced heart like a splinter
which remains there today; his birthday remembered:
January dream in July of December.

There was snow where he touched me.
Brian, scared that he loved me.
Brian stared. Brian cared as I woke with a fright.
And there in the shade of the dream where we made love
he carried and married me all through the night.

Seven-teen years and I still feel those kisses
though we never have visits; explicit or shamed.

And I never accepted he’d been resurrected
for in death I was blessed while in life only blamed.

Written by Jason Wright
July 26, 2017

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Delusions of Innocence

He’s married (down low)
and he wants in our building.

But all fairies know
that you can’t rape the willing.

We know what he wants
before he confesses.

In the dark of his heart:
Who wouldn’t have guessed this?

Wouldn’t see through
the glaze of delusion?

Who could confuse
his lies for confusion?

Who would include this
deceptive exclusion?

A fairy has lied
if he has denied
existence defined
by his need for transfusion.

Written by Jason Wright
July 20, 2017

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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
July 11, 2017

“Prostrated” was written in a mad rush of notes, this being the first completed piece. The others were later finished in October and this became the final entry in a trilogy that was released later.

Also (and this may be Too Much Information), what I remember about this exam (which I’ve had every 3 months for years) was that I was curious if there would be any problems, because 2 days before, I had experienced double anal penetration in a threesome, which was the first time I’d ever done that. I felt great, so I thought everything was fine, but it was nice to have it confirmed by my doctor! And now you know…

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The Lion Sings Opera

He wants Aaron,
tells me I’m beautiful,
asks if he can piss on me,
and it’s not until
he cowers
that I lose my erection.

His fear disgusts me.

I once was fearless,
I’m seemingly peerless…

I dance with the others
who fail to march outwardly.

Their fear leaves me wounded
and feeling excluded…

Rather fearless and stupid
than smarter and cowardly.

Written by Jason Wright
June 21, 2017

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Scruffy

My lover stands
in Budapest
while I’m training
beneath the ground.

He speaks to me in ecstasies;
all the rage without a sound.

Madonna sings
Ilyssa speaks
Once again the girl is drowned.

Enough of talk
It’s time to walk
What was lost may yet be found.

Written by Jason Wright
June 21, 2017

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Blurred Lines

Waking from migraine nightmare
as waves crash on Fire Island sunset.

My eyes are blurred by unshed tears.
My cock is hard.
My boyfriend kisses the swelling flesh
before running to meet Essa.

After orgasm, shower and
multiple doubts & setbacks
I emerge feeling like I’ve awakened again;
eyes blurred by possibility.

Written by Jason Wright
June 14, 2017

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The All Seeing I

I attempt to document
the immorality of Xanax
but the only evidence is a kooky fortune teller
who reads my chai tea leaves
and tells me I’m wasting my time.

I agree.

I think of him in California
on some app
naked and hunting
for affirmation of his desirability –
giving his attractiveness a score
equal to the number of dick pics he receives.

Will he thank them with blowjobs?

I don’t think he would cheat
but of course I never expect him to lie.

And why carry naked pictures
on a mobile device
if you don’t intend to share them?

I’ve seen things that I shouldn’t…
or should I have?

My inner I
is cloudy / wounded / bloody.

The red tears fall
and lubricate my way to the future.

Written by Jason Wright
May 25, 2017

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Our Assholes Are Not Different*

My asshole is liberal
and apparently terrifying.

In Chechnya, gay men like me are tortured
while I’m riding a bicycle for the first time in nine years.

I’m racing downtown
along the Hudson River….
just like Michigan childhood,
yet decidedly different,
feeling simultaneously young and very old;
muscles aching, blood pumping.

I have to eat soon and all of this must end.

Coffee in Lincoln Square? Lincoln Center? Lincoln somewhere.
Mingling with opera singers; this is my life now.
This, while those in Mother Russia
who survived the purge of A.I.D.S. have been incarcerated
by an astonishing ignorance,
in a war they can not hope to win.

We are not wayward heterosexuals.
We are born; not converted.
And it is those that hate and fear us so much
who are responsible for our creation.

The only FAGGOTS I’ve ever met were
conservative terrifying assholes.

Conservative or Liberal…
at least our assholes seem to match.

*with all due respect to Arthur Rimbaud.

Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2017

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The View Upstairs

Haunted night
is filled with fairy ghosts
of candles burnt
forty-three years
endless summer days
and countless aching seconds before they sang!

The ash of memory
collects / connects / coalesces
between a dreamed of future
and the year before my own birth.

Music plays,
dancers sway,
Listen now to what they have to say…
Feel the truth of an imagined confession.

Now you know that art is magic,
alive and tragic,
raving, righteous & tempestuous somehow…
that is what you know in the now
but back in the then
before the circuit could complete –
before you finished kiss so sweet –
the fire spread as coward fled.

Written by Jason Wright
March 16, 2017

For Max Vernon

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Showered

Showering after sex
my mind is overcome
by thoughts, sensations, memories.

“Call Me by Your Name”
has reminded me of Rob –
the way he made a pass at me
when I was 17 –
the way I reacted
and the way I’ve often wished
I could change that moment –
erase it, rewrite it,
never experience that level of self loathing
born of inexperience…
that impression of what I lack.

Still…
kissing at church has to count for something.

My conversation with young relative returns;
how I tried to calm his fears
on Trump and AIDS and love and sex.
It only takes one time, you know?

A boy I knew who worked on Fire Island
died of an “infection” a few weeks ago –
life support turned off –

INFECTION
FIRE ISLAND
GAY
DEATH

The words that silently scream at me what I believe to be the cause
while everyone politely refuses to mention what has happened…
And the band continues to play on.

Men I’ve been inside of,
Men who’ve been inside of me
are positive.

Best friends,
Loved ones,
Infected but seldom mentioned
because an illness
is easily
the least interesting thing about them.

I think of Aaron and the tears he shed
and the words he said
and the progress he confirmed…
the wonderful weekends we’ve had.

I think about upcoming hearing while
trying not to face it with terror or worry
while the video they’re supposed to send me
has never arrived (three times).

But the shower must end
and scalding hot water must cease it’s spray.

And so I dry myself –
step back into the world
and I forget.

Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2017

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