jonberger

You know you’ve lost it
as you so frequently do.
You can tell that whatever skills you had once
– maybe even this morning –
have dissipated
like the snow on the nascent leaves…
don’t even try it.
It’s gone.
Your talent’s gone.

Luckily, you’ve been around
this particular block enough
to know this might not be a permanent state of affairs.
Your artistry
evaporated as dew
on a spring dawn
may return again
another day
like light
like hope
like an eagle dancing with a fox
on the eve of a
– nope. Not yet.
Not just yet.

I wore the Stuyvesant shirt again.
People take offense sometimes
that I would flagrantly present
this shameless symbol of my past
but it is not shameless.
I am not ashamed
of this egghead institution
or we geeks
who inherit this earth.

I am proud
to have come from one
of the smarter schools in the city
to have graduated
middlest of the class
from a building of giants.

We were the clever kids
and we did the homework.
We got the grades
and went on to graduate schools.
We oversee
all the opportunities
the country sees
for the following centuries.
We are the smarties
and we have brought you
the world that you know.

When you see me
in my Stuy shirt
you’ll know who to thank.

A dream of bowling?
Is that what’s going on?
What else could it be?
Why would I ever just happen
to come into a bowling alley?

What shoes are on my feet?
What shirt lays upon my shoulders?
What heinous transport delivered me
to this profane palace?
Place? Palace? Palazzo?
Where the hell am I?

It is not inconceivable
that I could appear in an alley ironically
but I remember no such decision.
What twisted logic could make me arrive here
and, apparently, enthusiastically?
What makes such a thing occur?
What drives me
to do half the things I do?

Who controls my fate
like the bumper rails
in this lane of life?
Who keeps tabs on my score
and maintains order?
Who’s buying the drinks?

So many questions.
On answers?
I’m striking out.

The website we never made
for the perfect wedding we never had
for the marriage that never occurred
is about to lose the URL we bought
and held on to
for online storage
for the event.

You didn’t want to renew it,
did you?

No, no.
I was just –
right. Of course not.

Give my regards
to all the kids.

You swore you would get to the party by seven
so I figured it was safe
if I showed up by eight.
It is nine forty five
and you’re not here
and I don’t know any of these people
and I am alone
except for my complete contempt
for your ability to keep time.

If you ever show up
you’re gonna be late in another way
that’s for sure.

These people
these utter strangers,
in this very strange house,
they are trying to talk to me
which doesn’t seem strange to them
as they are hosting this party
and are just doing their part
but it is frigging freaking me out.

Fuck you for doing this to me.
If you don’t show up by eleven,
you’re buying me steak.
If you don’t show up by one,
I’m meeting new people.

On the twenty third day of the experiment
he attained some sort of a breakthrough
and achieved a connection to
an alternate consciousness.

After days of struggle
it appears additional cognitive functions
were unleashed
and he gained abilities
well beyond the ken of mortal men.

The studies support this.
It is well documented
in the research.
He went on
after the twenty third day of the experiment
to save the reality
from itself
on sixty four occasions
before returning to a catatonic state.

Repeating the experiment
with further indigents
is highly recommended.

Tell me stories.
Let me sit by your calves
as you think back on the past
and recall what made you
just what you are
and how you came to be here.
I would love to know the history
that brought us to the same place.
Offer me insight.
Please, share.

Provide the myths of your origins.
Give of the secrets
that built the identity
we know
and all the ones you’ve shed.
I want to hear your oral history.
Give it to me.
Tell me your tales.
I’ll listen,
I promise.
I want to
so very much
even if it’s hard to hear.

The difficult steps you took
to arrive may have been harrowing
but I want to know of each
and every one.

This is not the first time
I have been stunned silent
by beauty such as yours
nor the first time
I’ve had to offer praise through petty lines
in pretty pieces of paper
to make up for a shriveled voice
and withered will.
This is not the first such offer I have made
but I pray it’s the last.

Look me in my foureyes;
you’ll see that it’s true:
I’ve been looking for
something new to get into.
Don’t you want to be
my latest Goddess?

I am at your disposal.
No – that’s not right.
I am in your superior hands.
You may decide everything.
Even the words I choose
are yours to do with
as you will.

I am a gun unaimed,
a circuit to be switched.
I am a brush
dabbed with paint
poised over canvas
ready to be placed
wherever a true artist intends.
Use me as you see fit.
I am devoted to your purposes, dame.

I know that I’m imperfect,
sure as you are six foot two.
Please be my latest Goddess
else I’ll wash my hands of you.
I have faith you’ll be
my greatest Goddess.

I need some one thing to believe in,
a creature to put on a pedestal
to receive my prayers,
to witness me secretly
silently. If you could accept me concretely
that would be wonderful as well
but not necessary
for the process.

Take me on.
Take me in.
Take me to your temple
and I will make all ablutions you require.
I want you just as you are:
perfect.
You can form me
however you can.

If you have me,
I’m your goo.
I’ll become
what you want me to.
Let me worship
you, my latest Goddess.

It appears
that I missed the anniversary
of our first serious conversation
– not that you even took note of the date
or took any notice of me at the time.

The date meant nothing to you,
it’s become clear,
just as I did,
and as time has passed,
it appears it wasn’t important enough to me
to remember on the day
– but at least it was important enough to me
to feel shame over missing it
five days afterward.

I’d ask if that counts for something
but you wouldn’t answer
because you don’t care,
do you?

Ah, you’re not gonna answer that one,
either, are you?

…
Never mind.

Here’s where the creepy comes in.
Here’s where the heavy breathing starts.
Insert ominous soundtrack now
with foreshadowing
and darker hues
and close-ups
and the suspicions
that something seriously wrong is about to happen
but what?
WHAT!?

Here’s where Ugly
gets his chance to shine.
Here’s where we experience
an exponential increase in expressive oppression
and unsettlement across the spectrum.
Here’s where the orchestration
takes another turn.

It’s not over, folks.
It gets worse.

Here’s where the story-beats stretch
and seem like the genre shifts
from more free-wheeling
to decidedly less.
Here’s where feathers and bows
get mired and charred
and almost all color
is wiped from the setting.

Here’s where you wish you could get your money back
but it’s not that kind of a show.
Really
it never was.

Now here’s the intermission
and now
there’s the exit.

What you do now
is up to you
just like always.