jonberger

If you run/rush your way
onto a crowded F train
all sweaty and out of breath
panting onto the people around you
and you spy from just out of the corner
of your drippy eye
some vision of beauty
one of the thousand images of perfection
that haunt your nights,
that kind of picture
of innocence and elegance,
mystery and mastery of glory,
that leaves you stunned silent,
if you see that thing
and you forget for a minute
that you just came from a root canal
and before that the gym
and before that, well,
you don’t remember,
your memory isn’t serving you too well.
Maybe it’s the anesthetic.
But you know you’re not at your best.

But you’ve never seen this finest creature
of impeccable wonder before
and you doubt you will again
unless you stake out this train
at this time
for the rest of the month
and, really, what are the odds that someone like that
is a regular consumer of public transportation?
This is probably your only opportunity to view this sight
to experience this wonder
to speak to such a figure
to make yourself known.
This is do or die. Come on!

If you are on this train
basting in juices
dripping with drool
amazed by this creature before you
that has dazed you
beyond recognition
but still you recognize that this
is the only chance you may ever have,
then by all means, take it
but don’t forget the odds you had
going in.

There will come a day,
little fat boy,
where you will tire
of cowering under covers,
of seeking shadows
large enough to hide
your prodigious frame
and you might consider standing out
stating your position proudly
letting your enemies take aim
prepared for whatever consequences
there may be.

There may be no consequences
for there may be no enemies
for fear anticipates
creatures in shadows
that cannot be seen
since the fucking shadows hide them, stupid.
That’s what shadows do.

You will find, perhaps,
that the fright
has taken too much of your time
stolen too many breaths
kept you behind far too many locked doors
for too many partied nights.
You will see other paths.
You may take them.
You may not.
But someday soon
you may see other options
and I hope. truly,
that you strongly consider them.

I’ve been looking at the archives,
reading some of the older material
I’ve written
over the earlier heartbreaks
and, great gosh a’mighty,
there were a lot of them.
Strangely, most of the heartaches
that were described in previous poems
never seemed to involve another actual person,
but whatever.

It’s strange to read
how this earlier Jon dealt
with the cards he received.
It’s strange, also,
to read that earlier Jon’s way around a sentence.
It ain’t always pretty.

But pretty consistently
it’s the story of a full grown man
acting like a big baby boy
pricking his finger on a splinter
and whiling away the weeks
waiting for it
to work its way out.
It’s slow
annoying.
It’s loud for everyone else around
and it’s no big deal.

Every time
that Jon thinks he’s never gonna get over the pain he’s currently experiencing regarding this girl or that.
Every time
that vintage Jon bellows
of megafauna-sized pain
but from this later perspective
it’s harder for me to muster the proper sympathy.

Maybe I’m just not that good a writer.

Now that you mention it,
I’m quite certain that it’s possible.
I imagine it would be quite simple
to strip down, get naked and aggressive,
start singing show tunes
or begin dancing a floppity jig.
I could stop showering or bathing
or whatever it is
you humans do.
Or that. I could do a whole lot more
of calling other people “humans.”

It wouldn’t take much effort
to start designing new variants on the language
one that removes all Qs
(actually, that seems ridiculously easy.
Maybe something more challenging
like adding Lou to the middle
Lou of every sentence Lou).
Or maybe not.

If I put my inventive mind to it
I’m quite certain that I could come up
with innumerable ways to do it
to find some strategies to be weirder
wilder, way more wacky.
Yeah, I’m sure I could be any stranger.
Why do you ask?

Every mistake yields a story, right?
So, at least, today will provide some good stories.
Some excellent stories.
Some world-changing, bone-shaking
unwoke-awakening stories.

Today’s the kind of day
that will bear out epics,
from which ballads will be writ,
the kind of day that colossal tomes
will be dedicated to
detailing every aspect of every moment that transpired
and all events that were thus evinced.

It’s been quite a day.
Maybe we’ll even learn something from it
if we make it through.

"I hope that we will all live happily ever after & maintain our respective & due proportions while sucking gleefully our respective oranges." – Leo to Gertrude Stein, 1912

Just so we’re on the same page
when I offered to come by
and supply you with as many oranges
as you might like,
it was not necessarily
specifically oranges of which I was speaking.
Had you desired,
I’d have been happy to provide
whatever citrus that would satisfy you.
I’m not picky.
Say you’re a mandarin girl
– or you’re all into clementines.
Whatever you had wanted,
I would have done the due diligence
to bring it to your door.

You want a kumquat?
You get the idea…

And,
to be clearer,
or further clear,
or, to make myself more clear,
or, to further clarify my initial point, if I may,
while the offer to bring you something was certainly genuine
the more genuine part of my request
the central part, I should say,
was the desire to come by
to see you
to avail myself of your company
because I’d like to see you more
and if getting more vitamin C into your system
is the best way to effect that change,
then so be it.
But if ginger snaps are preferred,
just say the word.

Maybe that was obvious
from the start,
but better it be said,
I always say,
or sometimes consider saying,
at least.

Look, if I can clarify –

It is imperative that you never read this
vital that you never know
these ridiculous
embarrassing
harmful ramblings
ranging through my head.
They must not escape me
and attach memetically to you
or anyone else
while I can help it.

Please, God,
stop anyone
from seeing this
ever.

If you were ever to suspect
how desperate and sensitive I have become
have labyrinthine and divisive my thoughts
you would allow me around
even less than you do.
I must maintain a veil of secrecy
that you can never pierce.

I will remain upright
uptight, forthright
and outtasite
so you don’t see through the veneer,
identify the obvious weakness of this armor
and pay attention to the freak
behind the curtain.
You’ll never suspect

unless you somehow read this.

Oh, for god’s sake…
Hey, shithead!
Who the fuck do you think you are,
telling me I don’t have to be scared
if I don’t want to be?

Like,
like my personality and defining characteristics
are just hats I choose to wear
at the start of every fucking day?
Do you think
I haven’t tried to rid myself
of the worries that plague my waking hours?
Do you think the core self-loathing
that drives my lack of direction
is something I’m happy about?
That I am just simply giddy to continue
without confidence?
Are you as intellectually retarded
as I emotionally?

Here’s the bulletin:
there are imbalances.
There are emotional
and chemical
and mental breaks in my system
– spiritual, too, probably –
and I am not the capable boy
I may seem to be at first glance
(hell, maybe I’m fooling myself
about the glance.
Possibly, it’s clear on first smell
that something’s wrong)
and it’s not just a matter of attitude adjustment
that’ll set me right.

I’m looking for the right fixing, fucker.
I’m looking all the time
and your ignorant
asinine
ill-informed advice has done less good
than you thought it might
other than turn me from mentally unstable
to frothing-at-the-mouth mad
as in furious.

So, uh…
fuck you
before I fuck you up
and all your friends too
all right?

Hey. Hey, kid:
With the straight back
and the frequent blink.
You all right?
You alone?
Come over.
Cop a seat.

Everything OK?
Be honest.
Doesn’t matter to me much
either way.
I’m just wondering
stranger to stranger
out here on this chilly pier
if there’s something you need
something I can help with.

You don’t have to say a thing.
We don’t have to talk.
You don’t have to sit here, kid.
It doesn’t matter much to me,
doesn’t matter much to you.
You can go your own way,
like someone once said.
It’s just…
you look like you’re alone
or lonely
and you look like you need something.

You need something?
You want,
you tell me.

All right.

I don’t know if I’ve ever said this before
but you are very much shorter than me.
I just thought it should be said.
I’m not laying judgment
and I’m not suggesting a solution
and I’m not even suggesting
a solution is required.

There may in fact be no problem
in the observation
but the observation stands.
You are shorter than me
and I am taller
and at this stage of the game
I doubt very much
there is anything we can do to change it.

The height difference rests between us
plain as the shadows
across your face
due to the light
my body shields from you.
You’re just a tiny little thing,
aren’t you?
No offense.