Poetry of Jason Gregoire
Trick mirrors
Curled fetal, motionless in leafy shadows of yesterday’s tomorrow, I am reaching again in familiarity backwards, but not in reminiscence to stale inanimate flavorings within shades of grey, but to a lucid transmigration of nebulous birthing, a realm within a moment, singularity of a brave but a distant hatching marriage, where first impressions amass and rejoin unfettered to ambitious possibility and the assemblence of collected riches.
Tonight my step is precise, navigating amongst the heaven reaching islands of aggregated post-expiration intentions, litter in the sea painted of broiled ice and regret.
Again caged in salient suspension, silence hums and my heart lumbers with infinitely recycled memory now a cancer, and shadows of destitution root and reach, gripping the pollution of ephemeral resemblance to recognition of fleeting silhouettes, yesteryear’s ghost of love and disappointment indentured to whims of the cruel capricious winds of chance, and insatiable desire of yet experienced emotional mismanagement affairs.
Knowing the how, believing in the when, trusting today instead of believing in tomorrow, symptoms of sheep, weeping for the Shepherd. Stifled unbounded indecision, the ache comes first as a moan, and then a numbness, pacing fervently first across and then in sympathized juxtaposition along the wake of suppressed love, the heart’s war of attrition, slewing the obstinate soul with microdermic suggestion, and waves of memory formatted ecstasy, disturbing scabs, producing echos of tattooed murals scribing an odyssey, this man, and an angle pursued in portended tragedy. Am I also there? Do I have what you can want, can I possess what you could need?
Crumbs scattered around the terminator of the cortex
Prognosis of intent, worrisome insect migrations, deafening cataracts, and acute endless transgression
Political euphoria, dreams of bulimia, discovery of antiquity, and the networked ministry of orphaned Pygmies
Tears of complacency, rumors of tomorrow’s yesterdays, the cheap conversation of the mute
Opacity of the glass sphere, housing the furnace of ice
Benign comfort of an enigma, aging azaleas, orbital achievement, streamlined procrastination
Jason Gregoire, a military officer in his mid-20s currently stationed in southern California, dabbles in experimental fiction and poetry that “attempts to mesh stream-of-consciousness, surrealism and science fiction. The writing’s nebulous and occasionally esoteric assembly requires patience and imagination but, with effort, provides the reader a cipher key to the underpinnings of the message.”