I can see clearly now through this rainful haze.
All the water’s making it so easy…
Everything’s becoming so clear to me:
It’s gonna be some dark, gloomy, torrential days.
Although no doubt, verdant greens will arrive,
with a sunny sky behind them, too,
we will not walk down such an avenue
until we’ve gotten through this little dive.
Our current weather’s not gonna be much fun…
but whoever said that we really needed sun
to be able to get anything fun ever done?
“There must be some kind of way out of here,”
said the Seven to the Three,
“There is too much construction, now.
I don’t know when I’ll be free.
Card-players, they build us up,
growing day by day.
But the structure is so precarious,
and how much could we weigh?”
“No need to get excited,”
the Three responded in kind,
“Our house of cards shall stand forever.
You needn’t pay it any mind.
We have the best Jacks of trades all working here,
And Queens and Aces, too.
I’m not worried for a single Acme second, Seven.
And neither should you!”
Everywhere within this house of cards,
the deck was being played.
Plans and schemes and situations, all,
by the best minds were being laid.
Outside, on the table, a giant pair of hands
was preparing to crack its knuckles,
and shuffle cards into rubber bands.
Dan Perino needs your love.
You’re the one he’s thinking of
if you are a girl five four
and you haven’t been a whore
since at least Two K eighteen
and your tests all come back clean
and you like an artist whom
still plays one-man shooter Doom
after a long day of paint
or behaviors just as quaint.
If you are just such a chick
and would like to be the pick
of a Dan Perino guy
then please just send a text to I
at my Dan Perino phone
In hopes of being Danny’s own.
I hope that we can soon connect
and then begin to have the sect
(that’s a single unit of sex, you know,
if you had, before, been pro).
And what will you get from one like Dan?
Nothing but a loving man
who can offer loving love
and whate’er you’re dreaming of:
like roses every other year
or an occasional beer
or a ride in my new Camry
or anything else that you can see
on the fourth prize shelf, the far end.
Just say you’ll be my girlfriend.
All your lawyers are dead. They may have died before I was born,
old lady, so your lawsuit threat doesn’t worry me so much.
Instead of shaking your fist,
you could try talking, you know.
Explain what’s bothering you.
We might be willing to listen.
I don’t mean to be scaring you,
if that’s what’s going on.
I’m sorry if my demeanor came off
as offensive.
Just tell me what you’re looking for
out of this interaction. Maybe I can help.
Oh, no.
That I can’t help you with.
Go back to your suit, crazy lady.
That’s just ridiculous.
The domino on the cement,
lonely,
awaiting pickup
to rejoin her pack,
had little to say
on the gray day,
but I imagine she wanted to topple
all the people that stepped on her
on their way to the train station.
I did what I could to avoid her,
but rather than change my stride
my toe brushed her points.
It made me slip a little,
which I guess is pretty much
what I deserved, anyway.
I’ll try to remember,
If I see her tomorrow,
to apologize.
"You know, it could have been so much worse."It is of little consolation that the car accident
that is costing me thousands of dollars
and keeping me off the road
could have been a worse accident,
costing me more thousands
and keeping me off more road.
That does not provide solace.
It adds fuel to the frustration inferno within.
"This too shall pass."
I know I’ll get over this,
but I need my time in the muck,
in the shame, to be upset and roll over,
let the fires of frustration burn me out
until I am a husk.
Then perhaps the remains of me
can be blown away
and this will pass.
"Are you all right?"
For god’s sake,
can you please just let me wallow!?
The drinks are all gone.
Soon we will have nothing left to consume.
For now, though, left us look through the meat
and eat.
Oh, it looks good.
Oh, it smells good.
Oh…
Oh, dear.
If I go, and I do not readily admit that I must,
then let it be as Spider-Man,
but let us be clear on the terms.
If I am dying, I want there to be no misunderstandings
as to how I am to be marvelously attired
during my last appearance on this plane of existence.
Let this be the testament as to which Spider-Man
shall be featured in this guest spot at my funeral:
Not the Ultimate Spider-Man, first appearing in the early aughts, trying to bring in a new audience with a streamlined story structure. Not Ben Reilly, the clone of Spider-Man, who didn’t really die in the 70s and thought he was the real thing,
only to be a plot machination of the Green Goblin all along (that sleeveless outfit did nothing for him!).
Not Kaine, the other clone, who became the second Scarlet Spider, more bitter than the first, but somehow less crazy
Not Miguel O’Hara, Spider-Man 2099, who hasn’t even happened yet.
Not Gwen Stacy, Spider-Gwen, Spider-Woman, or Ghost-Spider. I think she’s really cool and all, but I don’t think I have the figure for her outfit. Not ‘til I lose a few more pounds.
Not Miles Morales, Spider-Man, though he’s got a hoodie outfit that could really cover my curves,
his storyline doesn’t speak to me the same way that the original does.
And that’s where it stands: dress me up with
the love of the original Peter P:
Ditto’s finest, creepy crawly amazing fantasy.
Webbing out everywhere
Make my eyes white
my hands sticky
and the sense of identity unknown.
Make me Spider-Man for all to see.
That’s how the world should last know me.
This is my last act of will, please.
Those who know me best have so decreed.
The days are getting longer.
Weather’s getting hot.
Aashish’s starting to suspect
he’s something that he’s not;
a rhymer or a jester or a wizard
or a seer.
Pouring over lines like a poet
without peer:
just thinking he can ape the
contoured stylings of a master
as if his new experience was
somehow somewhat vaster.
Though improvements of vocab
are something certainly to shout,
is it of such significance that
he has to spout it
to the weirdos and the waitress and
the walls at this time?
The energy at which he’s
evinced all his unrhymes
seems to some, a bit decidedly
opportunistic.
Forgive me, then if I then sound eristic.
Yesterday I woke up with a bad taste in my mouth,like I’d gobbled a couple of ferrets from one of those less reputable places
down South.
I hoped to find something more to drink
but it had all gone down the bathroom sink.
I wanted hair of the dog that bit
but there was none left in that climate.
And I know I’ve been wrong to just keep going on
with this whole awful song that keeps going along about booze.
About booze…
Yesterday I got up and I swore never again.
I struggled to keep my eyes closed to escape some of the pain.
The day remained quite cruel to me
but I survived, as you can see.
I’m here today to tell the tale
though I still crave the taste of ale
and I know that I will for a very long time
it’ll stay deep in me like a wind in a chime about booze.
About booze…
jonberger 