j    r    walsh

 

 

Let there be porno


Don't let there be light


Let there be decline


Let there be blasphemy









































Let there be porno

 

god is a ghostwriter / working on spec
the sex is irrelevant / she or he said
but messy somehow / dear god, a note reads
please be punctual / send this to yourself like yesterday
and show up on time / for the love of humanity
you understand, no one / can pay now, but someday
youíre the top of the list / other creditors can go to hell
weíre shooting in the garden / adam and eve or
adam and steve / adam and eve and steve
eve and eve, well / eve solo in daylight
solo adam in moonlight / no one wants steve alone
he looks like a sea monster / and heís not in eveís contract
steve, itís just a contract, god / write him a tender scene
go god, go now / now that god is gone
donít give us any lip, steve / there are other ways to score
everyone wants two souls / one casual and one formal
donít buy that soul off the devil / when you can rent one from god
got them just lying around / around in celestial heaps
and god needs the cash / in this forsaken economy
that eternally empty wallet / the death of rent control
and a girlfriend who likes the finer things / but she does anal
on holidays
the sex is not irrelevant / he or she writes

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Don't let there be light

 

How disorienting the lamp / not attached to the switch
especially when we fell / asleep in the daylight
after taxing exertion / and feats of flexion
and catharsis without / massive bloody death
just a little one or more / for two
you didnít tell me / the way to the washroom
I will wake you on the way / to my clothes as I trip
intentionally over / the galaxy of books
Iíve never seen the likes / but hope youíll recommend
or read to me like Iím illiterate / and you want me anyway
because Iím so talented / with my breathless body
pieces of which Iíve left / in your sheets for safety
                                        the idea light is burned
out but still / hot but wonít
show me anything / I want to break your lamp
over my knee like a child / then youíll see Iím mature
and responsible

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Let there be decline

 

And if then god then / logic is your charge
a depleted account of proof / a pleated pair of slacks
slip off the bed edge / slice up a taut nightgown
all thatís left is floor / a pillow to fluff into clouds
and bruises
how can we spell ourselves / without decoders
an instruction manual wrings / the answer I donít
no the steaming iron / wonít leave this wrinkle
love or hate created by heat / heavy in the hand
a magicianís wand / pokes eyes welled upward
heavier temples pressed / with smashing confidence
just add water and it steams
do not admit one / snuck in / the fire exit floats away
the slacks arenít slack / the smallest oversight
and waters push fruitful / skeptical arguments
a soul that creepeth / believes
and god saw but god wonít saw / in half
two beings not being anymore

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Let there be blasphemy

 

When there is nothing to say / there is a flaming sword
around here somewhere / under that bush maybe
donít use that either folks / itís too delicious
and youíll return to the earth / as barbecued ribs
a shitbound pig on a spit / a dehydrated apple
mine eyes seeing the coming / feeding the glory
of my tender, tenderloins / the rains always come
from the heavens / when you lot are naked
not you Lot / no one wants to see you err
on the side of Jordan / pitching a big tent
toward Sodom / unless itís pay-per-view
with creative lighting / a cast of thousands
all fit and bronzed / evolving their aching
two daughterly bodies not acting like daughters
Not teetotaler Lot / glug / not actor or father
but drunker and drunker / blaming the angels
glug/ because of the caves and a blind desire
to make it / all womanís idea and babies adorable
he prayed and prayed and prayed some more
the sword came and came to the cave
but it didnít flame
for incest is truest when itís righteous as rain
or at least whisky / fire breathers can swallow
a flame never expunged / if a lifetime of hell
is your destiny / the PTA applauds your sons
or grandsons depending / with the same aplomb
reserved for Veterans of Foreign Wars / now in rock bands
playing the blues / with so many missing fingers
12 bars about forsaken Jesus / at the annual Church shindig
alter boys get altered / huffing musky glue in the basement
chaplain from the hospital / every Sunday he is risen
to the challenge of getting kids off / streets paved with dirt
surely weíre made from dirt / and the dust of all sinners
the smudges of Gomorrah were nothing / the streaks of Sodom
but distraction from an old man in a cave / we never talk about
and a flaming sword / no God ever used

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JR WALSH was born in Syracuse, NY and lives in Boise, Idaho. He has an MFA in Creative Writing from Boise State University. Recent and forthcoming work can be found in Alba, Juked, Caffeine Destiny, and The Anemone Sidecar. His story, ďAn Insurrection,Ē was the winner of the 2009 Esquire Fiction Contest.


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