jonberger

Before you open your eyes
this day could be anything
its potential limitless.
Go for a walk?
Sure.
Breakfast on the veranda?
Absolutely.
Think you might breed horses
that phase through stone?
Why not?
Opportunity’s are endless today, genderless term for guys!

Your dreams leave you free
to imagine any day possible,
and so do you
before you begin the day, per se.

So before you give it a go,
don’t forget that you will decide
how to make it so.

Now since you had to open your eyes
to read this,
it’s clear you’ve already begun your day.
So get moving.

If you drink the four liters of water
that you’re supposed to
you’ll probably get the exercise you need
simply going to the bathroom alone.

I kept thinking you had illicit purposes:stealing my women
(who were never women
I had any reason to think
I should have claim to
{more than any patriarchal ass})
mocking my art
mocking me in general,
when it seems you were probably just too wasted
to string complete sentences together.

Wow, you cannot keep it straight, can you?
I projected too much on you
for too long.
I’m glad I got to see through the mirror now, though.
Breaking on through, to the other side,
as it were.

I think I was just thinking about you too much.
Have a good night’s sleep.
It’ll look good on you.
On both of us.

She loved Jane’s Addiction
and I loved her
all too recently
so in her honor I went to the Jane’s Addiction show at the Colosseum. I was feeling lonely
and I wanted to remember
and maybe to dance.

This was around their third album,
when Jane was at the height of their powers,
with “Been Caught Stealing” running up the charts,
so posers like me could get on the bandwagon
and think about yesterday’s girlfriend.

The compact four-piece exploded
onto the stage
with the mosh pit ignited just about immediately.
I was thrown into it joyously.
I noticed Dave from a distance.
Dave was the boyfriend after me.
He was her best friend
always lurking, always supportive,
who became something else
after I was out of the picture.
I didn’t think Laurie was in town for the show,
but Dave was clearly enjoying Jane
in her place
just like me.
I would keep my distance.

Dave did not.

I found myself pushed by Dave.

In a mosh pit, where bodies are regularly shoved,
things happen by accident all the time.
I was pushed by Dave again.

Of course accidents happen.
Coincidences abound.
Dave ran into me.
Oh, come on!

I didn’t get this.
Dave and I were never tight
but what issue would he have with me now?
He won!
He had the girl.

I wanted to fight back
but he was bigger than me
and I didn’t think being caught
in active violence would be good for me.
Laurie wouldn’t like it.

I got out of the mosh pit
and watched the rest of the show
from the back of the room.

It was really rare back then
for me to do the mature thing.
I wonder if I was sick.

I’m tired.
I’m ready to quit this life,
give up the ghost and return
to some sort of stability
but I don’t think I can.
Painful as it’s been,
the rewards are too great.

For we are stereonauts,
sailing from town to town on waves of sound,
rebounding from rejections,
ejecting from tape deck gigs,
escaping with light-weight rigs intact
interacting all over the country
with whoever we meet.

We live for the road
and the sonic streets we skate
there’s little debate that we find hate
from hardcore, folk and punks and many more
but we adore what we do,
despite the difficulties,
despite the disinterest from so many.
We fight through
and will continue to
regardless of the exhaustion
and the insecurity
and the other crises of faith.
We’ll soldier on.

In an early poem
wherein I tried to woo the entire populace
by claiming to be a poet
I suggested that “no poet will ever make it.”
In content, it was supposed to be a selling point.
I was much younger then.

I just read it aloud for the first time
in a long time
to an audience that would not shut up.
It took a lot of will power and force
to bring them under control
and I didn’t think anyone actually heard the the entire piece,
but at least the next poet got an attentive room.

After she was done with her recitation,
the next poet exited the stage
and bent to me to say, “By the way,
poets do make it.”

And she was right.
There are different standards of making it.
There’s personal satisfaction.
There’s groupies.
There’s successful performances.
There’s legacy.
There’s earning copies of the issue
that you’ve been published in.
You can make it after all,
when love is all around.

The standards of the youth I was
needn’t be the standards
of the craggy old man I’ve become.
Maybe I’ve made it.
Certainly she has.

I’ve been trying to puzzle this out:
I’m chatting with this sweet Israeli star
who asks me to read my poetry to her
but the bar is too noisy
and I can’t hear my own voice
and maybe the accents are causing some difficulty
and it looks like she’s trying hard to keep my attention
so I hand her my phone instead
and say, “These are some good selections,”
and let her read so she can get the jist.

When she’s done,
she hands me the phone back
and thanks me,
leaving,
but she doesn’t seem all that happy.

Have I done something wrong?

Dance while you’re able.
Dance while you can.
Dance with abandon.
Dance like a man.

Dance like you’re children;
a squadron of ’em
causing chaos cross the county
making mostly mayhem!

Dance as a woman, whatever you are!

Dance really close. Dance friggin’ far.
Dancing near danger can be really cool
just exercise caution; don’t act a fool.

Dance like you have to.
Dance with the need.
Dance with desire;
dance on your knees!

Dance! Dance on your knees!
Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dancing on knees doesn’t always make sense
but when having fun, all your logic, dispense!

Just go for the joy and keep moving your butt.
You can do that from any position, Peanut.

Dance to extinction. Dance with a chimp.
Go to the best clubs; no need to skimp.
In terms of your movement, dance with the best.
Just take thy pastime, at my behest.

Require instructions? It’s easy to do:
Just get down to ground on your one knee, then two.
Then move to the groove with the finest you’ve got.
There’s no harm in giving your very best shot.

The stretch is electric; it’s what you need do.
There never is more that you bite, you can chew.
Keep on dancing. You must do it, please.

Dance with me now; dance on your knees!

Dance! Dance on your knees!
Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dancing all night will make it all right;

if you’re feeling uptight, knee-dance a delight!

Dance with your feet or your hands or the band,
with a man, woman, other, in air or on land.
You can dance if you want to, you can humpty dance.
You can move with purpose or by happenstance.
Wear whatever you want, whether suede of blue,
or Angel’s red, or old brown shoe.

You can dance on your elbows or your knees or your toes
but when I ask you to dance, say "Yes!", no "No"s!

Just

Dance! Dance on your knees!
Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

If there’s one thing here today
I can offer up to you
it’s there’s nothing that you are unable to do
if you lie. This is true!
It’s my mantra of honest advice
that’s been due since I chose to talk through
a lifetime’s conventions – and your several intentions –
just back a moment or two.

The world is simply your oyster for shucking
if you fail to give but a single butt-fucking
instant of instance of virtuous heed
to the millions of others’ irrelevant needs.

Just tell all the tales that are yours to invent
and prevent any legends too ludicrous to lament
and go on and libelize to your heart’s content
for any untruth is some oxygen well-spent!

If I’ve left you a thought to consider
as I hope I’ve authentically done,
it’s that honesty is one dish to deliver
after everyone has gone.
You can serve it snarky or spicy
or with fine spirited alcohol
but if you ask me, factuality
is most well served, not at all.

– Really, you must stop speaking for me. – she said.
– If I don’t speak for you, nobody speaks for you. – I replied, – the speaking doesn’t get done. –
– I speak for myself, – she answered, – in the way that I want.
– With no words? –
– If that’s my choice. –
– Well, I just don’t understand that. – I snorted.
– Then you just aren’t listening to me. – she said.
She said it again, differently.
It took me quite a long while to hear.