jonberger

The super smeller
with her most excellent nose
fears going out on the hot New York Street.

She is aware
of everything:

The chasing cats and rats and pigeons and pets
and all their carnage and the entrails entailed

The bikes being fixed on the corner

The cars being chopped at the lot

The young mamas and papas
caring for carriages and all that they carry

The pre-pubescent boys
who have certainly heard of showers
and took them once.

All these scents strike her
at once,
blows to her nose.

She stays indoors
as much as possible
and dreams
of a change of season.

Some sentences are best left incomplete.
Some thoughts are best left unspoken.
Some rights are best left.
Some lefts are best written.
Some of the deft are most deaf.
Some of the deafened are the least defeated
and some of the agonized have broken ankles.

Some sentences are best left incomplete
and some thoughts are best left unspoken.
See above.

If there was another me
he would be a drummer.
If there was another me
he would be married.
If there was another me
he would still be a he
but would undoubtedly be more successful
more brave
more thinner
but just as bald.
Baldness just runs in my me-ness.

Another me would not be so mean
nor prone to anger.
He would be red-faced with pleasure
but not well-read-faced
when playing poker.
He’s got somebody.

I think another me would live in Brooklyn,
maybe in Red Hook
with a cool daughter
who’s into tech.
Another me might still be into bands, myself,
even though we’ve aged out of that kind of stuff.
Another me is probably wiser than me,
though he might be younger.
He certainly looks younger.
Better built.

Has he taken a lover?
He’s gotten offers.
Had to.
Probably from trans-sexual CFOs
of international trading conglomerates
or pirate spies
(I don’t really know why pirates would need spies
or spies would have pirates
– maybe international trading conglomerates
need spies to pirate software?
That could be something)…
Another me has the chance to get around
but
another me doesn’t have much of an imagination.
he doesn’t need to.

Another me doesn’t spend so much time in his head.
He’s planted right here on terra firma
with his family
and his drumkit
and his poker pals
in Brooklyn.

Your social media post of bacon egg and cheese sesame seed bagel
was decadent
to the point
of making me wish
I had the will
to stick my disgusting fingers
into my grubby craw
and pull the useless oatmeal
I threw down there out
so I could add the infinitely
more valuable calories
you provided
in your picture alone
to my soul.

If I only had the courage.

When you dream of bullies
you will find that you have a choice:
You can live as the hunted
or you can find a way
to go on the hunt.

If you choose to be a predator
you can decide whether your prey
will be just another victim
or themself a bully.

Read-Aloud is a totally different experience
from just reading.
I write, usually,
to be read allowed
– although sometimes
there are words I use because I looked them up
and I don’t know how to pronounce them
(how fucking pretentious is that?).

I’ve taken to practicing reading pieces
before performing them,
something I didn’t used to do
because I was so frigging smug.
I may be reading
– and editing –
better because of this new practice.
Maybe I should consider this practice
before I send them out to the world though, huh?
Something to think about.

Anyhow, it’s interesting
how the forms diverge
the reading and the writing,
and something I sometimes keep in mind
and sometimes don’t.

It was the first time in a long time
that I was carrying something heavy
for a long time.
I can’t say I liked it
nor can I say I recommend it.

If the opportunity arrives
I do not think
I shall be doing that again.

I missed out being there for you
the way you needed.
I was doing something else
something irrelevant
even to me
and I’d like to make it up to you
but I’m having trouble
even now
while I’m focusing on it
understanding just what you need.

I can’t tell how much of it
is that I’m shallow
and how much is
that you’re troubled
but I’ve got a funny feeling
that the combination means
that we can’t understand each other right now.

I’ll try again.
I want to help, I do
but only so much.

I’ve always wanted to be a songwriter.
I’ve never known anything about music.
There was a piano in the house growing up
and my mother helped me pick my way through
“All My Loving,” but
if I was good at it
I would have stuck with it.

I’ve been a vocalist for some projects
but “singer” would be kind
and while I could provide lyrics,
the music was beyond me.

Over the pandemic
– the destroyer of worlds –
I used technology to bridge the gap
that my inabilities left me.

I started building very simple loops and drumbeats
– primitive stuff –
and laid vocals on tops.
They were like songs
the way my pieces are like poetry:
funhouse approximations.

It was lonely times.
I had little to do.
I kept using samples.

I said for a while
that I was building demos
for musicians to use to work with me on songs
but that wasn’t true.
I never reached out to anyone
to flesh these pieces out.
I liked the sounds I’d built
and didn’t imagine them
in any other form.

They were simple songs.
I didn’t understand music
how this piece worked with that
or how to make sounds
that weren’t sampled for me
and provided as loops for my use.
I continued to be limited
and I saw that to continue what I was doing
I would have to grow
or stagnate
and stagnation seemed like such an easier path.

So I lost music
and I can’t remember how to play
“All My Loving” anymore.

If I were good,
I would have stuck with it.

One day you’re going to have to take a good hard look
and ask yourself why you haven’t yet produced any art about Spider-Man.
It’s not like he defined the Marvel way of life
but he is the most important character
in the most important comic franchise
in the most important country
in the most important planet
in the most important solar system
(since it’s got Spider-Man in it)!
Something must be said.

He’s kind of a big deal.
He’s the little guy writ large in broad strokes
using a creepy figure to make the underdog
someone we can all root for.
How can you not have taken him under your wing
and made him your own?
For gods’ sake, what’s stopping you?

Spider-Man is one of the most responsible guys on the block.
He won’t let anyone get hurt on his watch
even though he’s just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
If a friendly neighborhood Soviet Union comes his way,
he’s honor-bound to try to take it on.
And he’ll win. That’s what he’s like! He’s that cool.
But he always suffers. People around him die
by the bucketload.
Pathos aplenty, is what I’m saying.
There’s so much dramedy with the kid.
You can’t go wrong.

I’m telling you:
if you know what you’re doing
you have to figure out what’s wrong with you
that you haven’t taken a stab
at writing an opera
or painting a triptych
or dancing an architecture about this dude.
You better get with the program
and get working on something;
it’ll just be fantastic!