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
sincerity.
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
everything.
"my territory, my territory...."
delusional.
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
hesitance.
I need the assistance.
The spiritual interest is
inviting.
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!
Back to April 1998