but that’s only if we don’t have to
wear condoms, ’cause I’m not
interested in any heaven
where I can’t feel a man cum
up my butt. Only Pope John Paul
should have to wear one while
getting fucked without enough lube
by a train of men who died with AIDS,
only they don’t want to waste their
time on such a big vacant hole, so they stuff it
with used, unbleached Jeff Stryker dildoes
the ones collecting dust on remainder shelves.
It’s okay John Paul, don’t worry. Jeff’s straight.
“You like that big straight dick, don’t
you John Paul?”
How often do you masturbate, Jesus?
What lubricant do you use?
I imagine you have this beautiful big black cock,
being Lord and all. Are you cut or uncut?
I’m sure it’s perfect. I wish you didn’t let them
cut me. Can I have lots of foreskin in heaven?
Which of the twelve gave the best blowjob?
Peter? I thought so. He was
always big on denial.
Did you ever come out to anyone while
you were on earth? There’s no mention
of it in the Gospels. It sure would’ve made things
a lot easier. How could straight translators know
Mary Mag was a huge fag in drag?
I’m not at all happy with the way things are
around here. Too much loss. Too much.
Please say Hi to my friends Tom and Bernie
and Robert and Saint Derek. Kiss them for me.
When I get there, Jesus, if there’s not
a grand old porn house like the Adonis,
open 24 hours, with an active balcony, and
a line up of every gay pornstar from the
late seventies/early eighties— Lee Ryder,
Tony Bravo, Al Parker, Leo Ford, Dick Fisk,
John Davenport, Giorgio Canalli, Chad Douglas—
eagerly awaiting outside my exclusive stall
with a huge gloryhole on both sides
smoothed by the cocks and tongues
of angels, then either place me in charge
of renovations or turn me away.
JEFF KIRBY, first published as the “Invocation” in Stallions and Other Studs: Stories from the 1st Annual Porn Press Awards/edited with an introduction by Scott O’Hara. PDA Press, 1995.