Author Archives: Jonathan Berger

It got weird, I’ll definitely cop to that, and I’ll do whatever I can to limit that kind of crap going forward. I’m not gonna be stopping by unannounced, just hoping you’re available. I won’t dedicate songs and poems and … Continue reading →

Increasingly my neighbor calls with small requests that require attention. She has no one else or no one else near, so I serve her as best I can. It is not hard what she asks of me though it is … Continue reading →

So glad to hear that you’ve widened your palate and are willing to try more exotic meals, less popular fare in less appealing plates. I’m pleased that you are more experimental now more daring more willing to give the strange … Continue reading →

Beneath me, at my feet, I suspect I feel a loose screw and, if can take off my shoe and sock and have enough flexibility left in that foot, I may be able worry the head and turn the screw … Continue reading →

Some day, you’re gonna grow and the songs of yesteryear will hardly seem quite so significant. You will mature and change and you will find that the pleasures you once held so dear will be hollow and irrelevant and you … Continue reading →

This is where we should kiss. This, this silent moment, this instant of tension is seeking some kind of release which would be found in each other’s arms, each other’s lips, in each other’s nudity. This is the time we … Continue reading →

In utter devotion I promised her a flying chair like Professor X had back when Chris Claremont wrote him, before the aughts. I said I would use my powers considerable as they are (but not at Professor X’s level – … Continue reading →

That poem I wrote that you didn’t like and I promised I would never read? That is a promise that I have kept. It remains unheard to this day but see, it is just so very good. I recently reread … Continue reading →

When the police tried to wake her in the morning to get her to move along they found her unable. The night had been very cold and the sleep she enjoyed left her unable to rise. They called a truck … Continue reading →

The little tyrant looks over my shoulder. “Are you writing about me?” I shake my head. “Why not?” I shrug. “You should write about me. Aren’t I pretty?” I say nothing. “Write that I’m pretty. Say that I’m smart and … Continue reading →