jonberger

If I can avoid it, I try not to speak ill,but of my girlfriend’s cooking, I’ve surely had my fill.
Though I want to take her out, she makes most of our meals
and we sit over dinners that taste like peels and seals!
I find I can’t eat much she cooks, at least not anymore.
And at this point my pants don’t fit the way they did before.
My belt is tightened daily. My shirts get looser still.
And if Gwen doesn’t feed me better, whither way, I will.

Gwen is cooking bad. I’m not glad. It’s so sad. It’s a tragedy.
If she could just learn not to burn but to turn it ’round more capably…

Gwendolyn is lousy, Gwendolyn’s no chef.
If only she were moved to improve, but alas, to change she’s tone-deaf.
Gwendolyn is awful. Gwendolyn’s no cook.
I fear she’s got her recipes out of some old spellbook!

I’ve been trying to broach the subject with my girl for weeks,
but I never reach the topic that I’m trying to seek.
I just flit around the area, graceless as could be,
as if I were a poledancer, working a Christmas tree.
Now, dancing for dollars doesn’t pay the rent,
when you tend to blend in with a burlap tent –
but I’ve been melting pounds off, with the weight I’ve lost,
so soon I’ll have a stripper’s bod, and then have twenties tossed (my way)!

Gwendolyn’s been cooking poorly, I’m had sorely anything but beets.
It’s a treat I can eat up any meat. I feel defeated!

Was this always Gwendy’s plan? What she began:
Starve her man, stop him eating everything she can?
Gwendolyn’s a genius. Gwendolyn’s in charge.
Now I’m looking like a kayak instead of a barge.

Gwendolyn is no chef. Gwendolyn’s no cook.
I think she’s got her recipes out of some old spellbook!

The days are getting more dangerous.
The poisons are running through.
The people have had enough.
Happy Mother’s Day to you.

The world is in a crisis;
the papers looong overdue.
Civil wars are bubbling up all over.
Happy Mother’s Day to you.

Whatever kind of mother covers over you,
another’s gonna bother your brother,
so together, we should hustle the muscle
to recover the love for some mothers,
my brothers, all right.

If you see it coming,
like I think I know I do,
then you better rustle flowers:
Happy Mother’s Day to you.

Happy Mother’s Day to you!

Grey and me reviewing the past:
“That April was something!”
“And then that May rolled around right afterward.
I can’t believe it all happened so fast,
so quickly!”
“Damn, in all so short a time!”
The past has a way of being like that.
Drinks have a way of being like that, too.

We’re buzzed on history,
buzzed on what we did,
buzzed on the nostalgia of our accomplishments,
that nobody else might remember,
but are etched in the stone of our personal legends.

“We did that shit, man.”
“We did, indeed.”
“Damn.”

The day is almost over and I have found
that I have said nothing of merit
for the entire day.

Having noted the trend
seems to have had no effect
on the quality of my speech.

Perception seems to have helped little
in this regard.

Yeah, no change.
Shit.

All right, the day’s a wrap,
and I’ve ended with a total lack
of anything useful to say.

Wonder how many days this will go on…

I’d like to say hello
but I’m not sure where you are anymore
so I’ll just send this word out
to the ether
and hope you hear me
somewhere out there
and feel the good vibes.

Maybe someday you could send them back.
I’d like to feel them more concretely
but kind of afraid to send an address
through the ether.

Who knows who might pick it up,
you know?

Sometimes the words mean nothing,
nothing but wonder
that the language can communicate at all,
magic in the transmutational ability to work
one sentence into sensational otherness.

Words can do this.
Words can move our mouths from one mess of meanings
elsewhere
and make meaninglessness
less meaningless.

Sometimes the words are there
and the sense has to be stretched

somewhat
so that the use
can be appreciated
by someone.

Sometimes the words be.

I don’t think I approve of my roommate having sex
when I’m not.
I feel like there should be a compact.
A sexless house when one of us is dry
and I’ve been dry since Carter.

This isn’t something we’ve discussed
but I feel it should be implied
and I’ve just implicated him in this plan,
so let us all assume it is so
whether he’s heard about it yet or no
until any further associations
have been otherwise made, shall we?
Thanks ever so.

Wait, does this mean our agreement
would have to be reciprocal?
Let’s hold off for a minute
and put on our thinking caps, then…

I can see clearly now through this rainful haze.
All the water’s making it so easy…
Everything’s becoming so clear to me:
It’s gonna be some dark, gloomy, torrential days.

Although no doubt, verdant greens will arrive,
with a sunny sky behind them, too,
we will not walk down such an avenue
until we’ve gotten through this little dive.

Our current weather’s not gonna be much fun…
but whoever said that we really needed sun
to be able to get anything fun ever done?

“There must be some kind of way out of here,”
said the Seven to the Three,
“There is too much construction, now.
I don’t know when I’ll be free.
Card-players, they build us up,
growing day by day.
But the structure is so precarious,
and how much could we weigh?”

“No need to get excited,”
the Three responded in kind,
“Our house of cards shall stand forever.
You needn’t pay it any mind.
We have the best Jacks of trades all working here,
And Queens and Aces, too.
I’m not worried for a single Acme second, Seven.
And neither should you!”

Everywhere within this house of cards,
the deck was being played.
Plans and schemes and situations, all,
by the best minds were being laid.
Outside, on the table, a giant pair of hands
was preparing to crack its knuckles,
and shuffle cards into rubber bands.

Dan Perino needs your love.
You’re the one he’s thinking of
if you are a girl five four
and you haven’t been a whore
since at least Two K eighteen
and your tests all come back clean
and you like an artist whom
still plays one-man shooter Doom
after a long day of paint
or behaviors just as quaint.

If you are just such a chick
and would like to be the pick
of a Dan Perino guy
then please just send a text to I
at my Dan Perino phone
In hopes of being Danny’s own.
I hope that we can soon connect
and then begin to have the sect
(that’s a single unit of sex, you know,
if you had, before, been pro).

And what will you get from one like Dan?
Nothing but a loving man
who can offer loving love
and whate’er you’re dreaming of:
like roses every other year
or an occasional beer
or a ride in my new Camry
or anything else that you can see
on the fourth prize shelf, the far end.
Just say you’ll be my girlfriend.