jonberger

Sometimes I find parts of poems
ideas that have never quite coalesced
sentences without a home
and I combine them
with others of their kind
to form some Frankenstein whole
a mishmosh of monstrous pieces
built into a tower of babble
from their assorted origins.

I am rarely proud
of these works of desperation
these uninspired aspects
of half-visions, unformed on their own.
I am glad to have done something
for these orphans
but am somewhat ashamed
of what I have,
in weakness, wrought,
but still I find
these creations have their own audience
some fans who see some beauty
in their pieces.

Perhaps they don’t see the surgical lines
I can remember from those freakish births.
Maybe some simply like the parts
that have been allowed to see
the light of day
due to their adoptions.
Possibly it is the very mutations
that appeal,
the sense of something corrupt
coming from such bastard splicing.
Or maybe the people are just being polite.

Whatever.
I have many children
and I love them all
but these monsters
made from cadavers of stillborn sentences,
they are among the least
of what I have wrought.

My therapist said
you provided a perfect opportunity
to sever all contact
and go cold turkey
avoiding any word, thought or deed
that would relate to you

and these past few days
I have been true to his command
keeping myself pure and untouched
by anything involving you

except not really.
There is
in all things
a distinct absence of you,
a you-sized hole in the wall
where you made your speedy escape

and even where there is not
a visual space
you should have filled,
there is a sound
a fragrance,
hell, a thing I wanted to show you,
to experience with you

but now
in this period of drying out
there are only
the constant reminders
of what is missing

something you would never notice
if you were here
because only then
would the hole disappear.

Please, I beg you:
never cut your hair.
It is astonishing.
It is exotic.
It defines you.
It makes you
a thing I want to know
and very much
want to know better.

Please, I must insist:
keep your locks
and your power.
Maintain your familiar form
and contain the magic
it avails.
Stay as wondrous
as you are today,
an object of inspiration
an object of desire.

Please, I entreat:
do not change.
I cannot promise
I will want you
as much as now
if you ever transform
into something different.
Do not risk
becoming a stranger.

Please, I beg of you:
never ever cut your hair
but when you do cut your hair
I would like you
to leave me a sample
to treasure
of the once perfect you
that I once knew.

The pills don’t always work.
The smiles don’t always work.
The cake
the ice cream
the ice cream cake
and candy, they…
don’t always work.

Sometimes
the downs get going,
and nothing can keep ’em down.
It’s a part of life.
It’s a part of chemistry.
It’s a part of getting through.
Maybe there’s even a reason for it
though I’ll be damned
if I know what it is.

But dancing doesn’t always work
and drinking doesn’t always work
and death of your enemies
even in the most hilarious of ways
does not always work
in dispelling the darkness.

Not weed
not movies
not comic books,
nor comedy shows
nor constant playing of "Karma Chameleon"
will stay the blues
from their appointed rounds.
When it’s your time to be depressed
that’s just it.

Sometimes
nothing will get in the way
of having a bad day
but…
we can try the blow jobs again
if you’d like.
Just to be sure.

I’ve been thinking a lot
about the last thing you wrote.
It really got to me
though I can’t say exactly why.

It made me want to change, though,
or think about changing
or maybe just change my shirt.

I’ve ended up wondering
if the direction I’ve been going
is the one I want to be
– which might have been your purpose
in the first place.

I’m taken aback.
I’m a little embarrassed
and unsure
as to what ought to be next
and I think
to a great degree
this is because of you
and what you
so recently wrote.

Impressive work;
I should have said so earlier.
Really,
really great tweet.

Sixty nine years is a long time
to know someone
or live with him.
It couldn’t have been easy
all those years
but she persisted
and they thrived
through life on the coasts
kids and death
empires won and withered,
they weathered it all
but sixty nine years
is a lot of marriage
and something had to break
eventually.

And eventually
it was her:
a wonderful wife
a beautiful bride
a model who made her room-mate
miss her date,
and mastered The Man,
she faltered,
fell.

Sixty nine is lot of years
to live with the same person.
It wasn’t enough.

It is a good night
with a strong breeze
and a consistent ache
within bone.
You have dirt under nails
and an experience
of earned exhaustion.

The first drink will be sweet
and the eighth will be sloppy
but each one shall be absorbed
and enjoyed
and everything seems righteous
and just.
It is a good night
after a good evening
with the better teams
winning the proper awards.
You know you shall sleep like the dead
and awaken
with new hills to climb.

It may not be easy
or always pleasurable
but it’s a good life
if you don’t weaken
and it’s yours.
Good night.

Your logic is spurious, at best.
Just because I’ve said “you’re one in a million,”
doesn’t prove that I should love
– or even want – you.
Why? Oh, there
are a multitude of reasons.
Here’s a few:

Assuming that the “one in a million” claim was sincere
– fairly questionable,
knowing my track record
with the truth –
there has been nothing discussed
that gives evidence as to what
I believe you to be one in a million OF.

And even were it to be a positive thing,
that suggests that here,
in the Greater New York Area,
there are still likely twenty others
similarly qualified,
and any of them
could easily suit me better.
On the East Coast,
one hundred and thirteen humans
might match me more,
and in North America,
you’d have to compete
with five hundred and sixty five others.
– and I speak Spanish!

What?
Oh, yea,
that’s a compelling argument
but please
if you will
allow me to rebut:
You’re an idiot
and you’re saying damned stupid shit right about now.

Have you actually met common sense?
Because she called
and she wants you to reconsider her.
She’s sorry that you guys haven’t been speaking
but she’s willing to come back
if you shut up for a minute
and stop being so retarded.

In addition,
odd-taking is inexact anyway.
I know your uncle
is an insurance adjustor
but math simply does not satisfy my soul.
I will love whom I wish
regardless of what phrases
I might or might not
have once, in a moment of revelry,
accidentally uttered.

Is that enough?
Have I satisfied your curiosity
as to why you may not be the one for me?
Do you need more convincing?
Because I have reasons, galore.
Hell, I’ve got a million of ’em.

“You live a quarter century
and what do you get?
Another day older
and closer to death.”

You say you hate your birthday
and I’m no fan of mine
since it’s hard to think I’m aging well
as if I’m a fine wine
when the slightest change in environment
proves how sour I’ve become.

But you, so fresh,
so new,
so exciting,
your birth is one
that must be celebrated.
Certainly, I can’t be the only one
to think this way.
There have to be others
on this globe
who see such joy
on this day
that can only be identified
as sourced by you.

Anyway, yours
is a happy birthday
for me, at least.
I hope at some point
you can find as much pleasure in it
as I do.

With you going off
on your little disappearing act
I have a chance of my own
to take a break,
to review, reconsider
and to revise my life
as necessary.

With more time to myself
I may just be able
to get things done:
minor things
like finishing the dishes
and the novel
but also major ones
like getting the damnable monkey off my back.

In isolation
I can rest
and reorganize
and free myself
from the addictions that enslave me.
In my home
alone, I can go cold turkey
on wild turkey and Cheetos
and, with the time afforded me,
I will be able to detox
and get you out of my system.

I’ll get clean
then go back downtown
so I can clean up.
With you no longer defining me
in no time I’m sure
I will find some other kind of
trouble to get myself into.
In the time that you’re gone
another thing
will become my mistress
and I will be done with you.

Ha.
As if.
Like this terminal addiction
I have for you
could be sated by anything
or anyone else.
Like there is an amount of time apart
that could grant me the strength
to quit you.