jonberger

We see what the will has said.
Now, we just need to verify
that she has the stuff
that she offered up in the will.

You can have the figurines?
We just need to make sure the figurines still exist.
You want the car?
Does the car still work?

The money’s in the account, sure,
but we have to make sure the creditor’s are paid first.
You get the idea.
We got to make sure
we can get your what you’re due
according to Sue’s wishes
– once Sue’s estate is resolved.

This may take a few months
or a year.

We’ll get back to you.

I am the wall.
I get hit by the ball.
I have a friend Paul.
who once smoked Pall Malls.

He’d stand up by me
just to stare at all the
neighborhood ladies
over at the marquee.

We had these great years
standing right here,
me and my friend
for days without end.

Now Paul’s gone away.
He left without saying.
I have remained
but I don’t complain

for I’m made of brick
and I don’t get sick.
I’m not bothered at all.
I’m just a wall.

In the center of the forest,
if a forest can have a center,
the grand tree rests.
Some days it towers
some days it judges
but today it rests.
It will let others handle the duties of the day:
funneling water to the fauna below,
letting leaves float down,
watching the affairs of the moss,
It is old.
There are days to take off.

It doesn’t notice as the human stumbles over,
looking every which way,
seeking some sense of order in the covered forest.
The tree pays little attention to the human
and vice versa,
even as the human sits down on its trunk
even as the human collapses and faints.

When the human awakens,
the tree takes little notice.
Fauna makes minor difference to the tree.
The human screams and cries
and throws itself upon the tree,
perhaps praying to it,
perhaps trying to destroy it.
The tree neither understands
nor cares.
Liquids escape the human,
some solids, too.

Eventually, the human leaves.
It will not go far,
but it will enrich the forest,
so that is good.

The grand tree remains,
and it will take
a different role
in the actions of the wood.
Today it simply rests.

When you end up calling yourself the Great,
you’ve got a lot to live up to.
Gnaeus Pompeius had pretty big expectations
when he joined the triumvirate with Marcus Crassus and Gaius Iulius Caesar.
Things didn’t work out all that well for him.

He lost some weight when he got beheaded
and he wasn’t quite so great no more.
He had a lot of good years before that, though:
decades of victories,
hoards of fortune,
couple of wives
(sequential though, no hanky panky for the guy),
he did pretty all right for himself.

You couldn’t exactly say it ended up great for him, though.
It was a less than stellar ending for Pompey.
But then, how many endings would you say are great?

I get a whiff of the salted caramel ice cream, and I think of having all I want, not just the limited amounts my body will allow. Ah, to have true control and not be sickened by the foods I love…

I think of the albums that are being threatened to be banned at libraries, but more – the records pushed to the side by the juggernaut market forces like your Beyonces, your Taylors, your Jay-Zs. Would that we were free to choose equally…

I see the social media we have been provided, the wealth of information, and how we have been given so much crap, that it is impossible to find truth within what we see. We are free to sift through the shit indefinitely, to read lie after lie after lie, to read all the hate screeds, to find enemy after enemy. It is a beautiful thing.

I taste the peanut butter. Beautiful peanut butter, in all its variations. Beautiful peanut butter. It may be the death of me. Mmm, peanut butter.

Soft sheets, slightly chilled, as I jump into bed. Oh, it is good to be free of the day.
Good night.

They didn’t tell you how it was going to be.
They never really do.
They tell you how it was
and expect it to be again
but that refrain is never really repeated exactly;
you don’t enter the same river twice.
The lightning bolt will hit a slightly different spot.

Things happened slightly differently.
The variations tell.

I was taken back when she said
she was flarcstatic to see me.
No one had said that to me before
and I was sure how to take it.

I was honored, of course,
but a little unnerved.

I liked her, certainly,
wanted to know her better, absolutely,
but in a flarcal kind of way?

I wasn’t prepared to say that just yet.

Keep avenues open, though,
until you know you want ’em closed.
That’s always the best way to achieve perfect flarcstasy,
my grandfather said once,
then never mentioned again
(I was definitely too ashamed to ask).

Rest assured, I will be following up with that lady
some time soon!

We am the champions, my friend,
and though we be fighting,
we’m winning from the get-go.
It’s just our never-say-no attitude that makes it so;
we always have that winning flow.
We am the champions!

If you need to find winners, just look straight at us.
Winners don’t lose and our gold doesn’t rust.
Get on our trip; you can ride on our bus.
We am the champions, my friend.

The battles are constant, but we just don’t lose.
Looking to team up with aces? Us, choose!
In winning circles, we’re in lots, in lose: fews.
Never decide to be in chumps’ shoes.

Champions am what we are to this day.
That’s basically all that me have to say.
If I have to repeat or threepeat or four-way
just allow me to go on with the same cliches.

We am the champions, my friend.
We fight on and on til the end.
Our victories continue on straight, do not bend.
We am the champions, my friend!

The greatest movie I never saw was probably
The Life Story of Jonathan Berger, starring Jonathan Berger,
as written by Jon Berger,
produced by the Berger Production Group.

The bioflick thrills to the chilling adventures of how
our hero made it to the top of the art game,
as well as becoming an adventure hero
and benevolent cult-leader
slash rock legend,
all in a breezy four and a half hours.

Naturally, the powers that be never let the film come out,
or even exist.
They were too afraid of its threat to the status quo.

But think of it:
imagine if it were made,
how it would go over.

Does the phrase “lead zeppelin” come to mind?

The piles in the apartment are difficult to pass,
this is true,
but they present an intuitive organization structure
that brings about comfort and understanding
and presents an environment like a volcano range
where a giant steps among them.
There is beauty, from that view.

My piles bring me pleasure.
My piles bring me joy.
My piles help me organize my life.
My piles may disturb visitors to my domain
but visitors so often cause me strife.

The piles in the apartment sometimes diminish over time
and get moved to other areas.
They sometimes change in consistency and shape.
The general idea of them tends to remain, however,
and the fundamental structure goes forward.
The arc of the universe bends ever toward the piles,
and I respect that.