jonberger

This fictional genius I just created just let me knowshe reengineered a busted old motorcycle
she saw lying around.
"I had a few hours to kill," she explained,
and showed me the goods.
It was a forcefield-contained,
earth-environment sustained flying bike
that could take you into the atmosphere.

"You should be able to get to the Moon
in about three and a half days.
I call it the Upcycle."
I nodded. I don’t know much about spaceships.
"Looks good," I said,
"Will I get bugs in my teeth?"
"We haven’t sighted any astro-bugs yet.
Maybe you’d be the first."

She wanted me to fly her Upcycle.
"But why me?" I asked.
"Convenience," she said. "If you go off on this adventure,
I won’t hear your music downstairs for a couple of days."
I was convinced. "I’ll do it!"

My training took mere hours.
The cycle practically drives itself.
This is my last will and testament.
I hope I die before I get old.

TO BE CONTINUED…?

Coffee sales are up, the media has alerted us.
No one is shocked.
Everything sales are up.
The free market has been bitchslapped
by gardening gloves with claws on them
and then penetrated in many holes
with the same hands.

Yes, labor rates are up.
Yes, bean prices are up.
But mostly kleptocracy has decided that it continues to be
hunting season on middle and lower class dollars
and they’re all being targeted.

Every single cent is on the table
and until everything’s been Hoovered up,
no money is safe.

Your addiction to coffee is fair game
as is your addiction to water
and shelter
and, no doubt, air.

Kleptocracy is seeking you out, man.
Enjoy your coffee.

Is this route directly to Old Cathay?
Would you like another Fanta, Ray?
Is Rudy on the way to Santa’s, eh?
If you had the cash would you wanna stay?

We could go another way.
This whole trip we could belay.
If you preferred the port Calais
we could stay at the cafe…

Wherever you want to spend the day
we could go relax, spread out and lay
or cuddle like some lovely cliche.
However you wish to wile away the time today
what do you say?
How should we play?

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…