September 2002 / Volume Three / Issue One
Jason Floyd Williams
free on mondays.

When I was younger, I’d
check-out the zoo with
the great anticipation
of watching chimps
behave like g.g. allin:
toss their shit around;
jerk off; piss
on everything; throw
things at the glass wall
separatin’ us.

Instead, they just paced.
Back & Forth.
Wearin’ thin the tile,
treadin’ ditches into dirt.

I tried to give the aliens
a show when I was
in one.
They’d watch– in what
I imagined was disgust–
while I flung my shit
at the glass, lay down
and fondled myself.

It was more fun this way.

Soon, I’d be like the
old codger with me–
hair down to his ass,
a beard runnin’ in
fifth place, flies followin’
him like he was
the marshall in some
forgotten parade; and
pacin’ the floor
with an occasional orbit
around me.
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