Jason Masino: Two Poems

Back to Black


Can you still shine bright
from six feet underground?

Culture transcends,
lives on
as the body – the bloody, soiled grape

Extract the soul and sell it
Ferment the insides and sell it
Yet less than 2% remains as juice

Concentrate, can you?
See yourself, do you?

At what point
does a rant
turn into a plea?

What becomes of the body-
the bloody, soiled grape-
when the history is wrung
from his skin?

Answerless questions
become obsessions
that I wish I had
the answers to

Questions that
mark a moment, a spec of :30
on the analog;
a household’s breath,
a whiff of oil frying on the stove,
of the Corn Man honking down the street

Don’t all colors
add up to Black?




the sound of the white fan
the color of the darkness
of a room
lit by very little sunlight
the feeling of slightly dirty
white socks with green lace
& grey toe coverings
the white cheetah-printed window curtains
the color of yellow-wood
beaming through the crack
in the bedroom window

of a heart going pitter-patter



What are you looking for?