April 1998 / Volume One / Issue Two
Jason Floyd Williams
a conversation.

Burying most of my pornos
in the backyard,
a symbolic, sacrificial gesture
to whatever Being watches
us like a gynecology grad-
student in a strip-joint
eager to learn a few
extra credit hours--
my abandonment of deviancy--
a masturbatory fast,
and escape from
manual labor.
You're the last woman I'm
actively pursuing, and
I need some(One's) help
if I'm to display my
After you, if you refuse me,
I will follow my father's
advice: "Let the women come
to you." Simple, and effortless.
I am exhausted from being
the blibd hound of potential love,
running into trees, chasing
useless scents, and pissing on
"my territory, my territory...."
Like Babbitt, nervous about
borrowing money from a
less-than-authentic bank,
whose dubious interest rates
he reluctantly accepts--
I approach this omnipotent
Watcher with the same
I need the assistance.
The spiritual interest is
Should I pray?             not yet.
I this Creature similar
to a rich relative living
in a callous nursing home,
visited only on holidays, or
in times of need?
Am I different?
Would I take this Relative
home with me?
                         probably not.
With the relentless energy
of Aqua-Man battling sexual
advances from curious carp,
I have avoided God.
But now, and during a few
episodes of fevers and
lonely drunken Sundays, I find
myself talking to God.
Asking God about love,
what madness!
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