Author Archives: Jonathan Berger

Fluttering out of my bag, simply bursting with bright energy, was a tiny sprite of a mouse, which sprung from the flap into the murk of my floor never to be seen, quoth the renter, evermore. How wondrous the signs … Continue reading →

I wrote this before we broke up but it really seems to apply just as much today, so I thought I’d share it with you, if I may: There will come a day when words will lose meaning, when we … Continue reading →

The dogs dance on the snowy scape, unsettling the white. Flakes fly about them as they bare teeth and flare tails at one other. Racing, chasing, each outpacing the other in turn only to return to the fold, they gnash … Continue reading →

When the days are warm, inviting, promising some secret intimacy like sun-kissed hair or freshly tanned skin… When the world seems to cry with premature hope offering future opportunities you had forgotten about entirely… When life is suddenly teeming and … Continue reading →

Roses are red I don’t love you. But don’t be blue; the reverse is true, too. When in June we nudely spoon on one side we always moon. Mainly, planes require emptied containers but maintained: most trains sustain liquid remains.

The following poem is brought to you by Jon Berger, the maker of such seminal works as “Seminal Work,” “The Healing Power of Bacon,” “My Sister’s a Slut” and “Booby Prize,” which was all about touching boobies. This prolific creator … Continue reading →

Now that the shaking has slowed and the sobbing has stopped I am relieved to see she has gained a semblance of control. This has been an emotional evening for us as she shares secrets, thoughts she might not have … Continue reading →

You’ll be over this one day. You’ll look back on these things you’re saying now and feel, at best, mildly embarrassed and, at worst, completely horrified at the songs you’re singing, the positions you support, the face you currently wear. … Continue reading →

We rang the bell at my school to commemorate collegiate success, so after I tugged the cables and heard the sweet ringing sound representing eight semesters of carefully completed curricula, I wore some champagne, drank some sloe gin, and felt … Continue reading →

That fluffy ruffled skirt swaying with every step safety-pinned beyond recognition, she signifies as a catholic girl gone bad but in fishnets and leather, Marten’s below Pistols above. She is the perfect picture of punk post-pubescence and effective affected rebellion. … Continue reading →