jonberger

At our first,
I swore I would love you
no matter what
which has proven, over time,
to be somewhat inconvenient.
If I’d added some conditions up front
a great deal of awkwardness
could have been subsequently avoided.

I would love you,
I should have said,
if you don’t parade your new boyfriend
at the places we used to go to
and I still go to
and all of our friends go to.

I would love you,
I should have added,
unless you try to involve me
in any pyramid schemes
or Ponzi schemes
or off-color schemes.

I would love you always,
I ought to have stated,
lest the you
you were with me
proves to be a different you
than the you
you will become.
If you change your identity
or race
or the species and genus
you previously identified with,
I can’t be held responsible
for any update to my feelings.

I would love you forever
I should have explained
only if you continue to love me
or at least are nice to me
or, perhaps, if you remain friendly.

Unfortunately
a promise is a promise
so I’m stuck with you
for fucking ever
despite what I suspect any self-respecting lawyer
could do with our case.
We shall remain as one
for an eternity, I suppose,
unless, perhaps,
you’d be willing to call it quits?

I tried to write you an apology
back in the Excite dot com days
but I was too embarrassed
and I tried to write an apology poem
in the iPhone days
but it just wasn’t any good.

I think what I have to apologize for
was too nuanced
for the forms I was using
– though by claiming I couldn’t figure it out
in the form of poesy
is probably grounds for revocation
of my poetic license.

Still, Lara,
I haven’t been able to figure out
how to say sorry
for blowing you off
probably twenty years ago.
I just haven’t been able
to swing it
with any conviction.
Maybe, though the moment has stayed with me,
I’m not really sorry.

The only sincere thing
I can pull off
I think
is apologizing for not apologizing sooner
even though
the thing I have to apologize for
is still beyond me.

Is this whole thing
incomprehensible?
I guess I’m sorry for that, too.

If you’re getting off
I’d like to buy you a drink
though it’s not really a drink
that I’m interested in having with you.
I want to talk with you.
I want to kiss on you.
I want to touch various parts of your body
– but not only
the ones you’d immediately suspect.

I want to know you
far better than I already do
and I can freely admit
I’m enraptured by what I already know.

I want to verify my assumptions
and clarify the errors.
I want to erase your difficulties
and have you massage mine.
I want to be there for you
and with you
to a degree that
I’m more than a little embarrassed about
but nonetheless feel completely
and absolutely.

But maybe you knew all that
without my saying
so I’ll shut up now
and hope that you’ll be willing to get that drink
assuming you ever get off.

You’ve heard this before, but this time it’s true.
It’s completely me. It’s not about you.
I’ve been seeking, exploring for something new
and apparently, see, it just isn’t you.

I can’t ask you to change, but for us to be
you’d really have to extensively.
Unless you do, I’m setting you free
to be with anyone who isn’t me.

Don’t lay blame – and don’t have a fit.
Stop looking for fault; you won’t find it.
Though you’re well equipped with your level of wit,
in a search you will find no responsibilit

but accept that in terms of our couplehood:
between us two, there wasn’t much good.
If my mind could change, I assure you, it would
but it just doesn’t want you. Is that understood?

It’s not about you. It’s all about us.
An us that doesn’t exist, and thus
we can quit it right now. No fuss, no muss
while I look for one that’s more beauteous.

It’s all about me. It ain’t about you.
I just want something better that’s real and true.
You should have suspected. From the start I knew:
You’re the old thing. I’m looking for new.

I’ve tried to explain to her
what it is about you
that has gained such purchase in me.
The words I use
always seem insufficient
empty.

She asks if it’s because you’re nice
and I snort.
Nice does not enter into the equation.

I wish I were capable
of painting you
in a way that represents all that you are
or even half.
I wish I could convincingly portray you
in any medium
but you are beyond my skills.
You are beyond my senses.

Certainly, you are beyond
her ability to comprehend
and probably her desire to.
Someday she’ll understand
but by then
all my stuff
will probably be off the lawn.

The storm has stopped.
The worms have risen.
The mud is everywhere, but still
the city is somehow cleaner.
The filth
has been washed away
for now.

It won’t take long
for the city to get dirty again.
It never does.
The city is exceptional
at letting the crap
rise to the top.

I wish I knew if you got home safely
but then
I wish a variety of things regarding you
with astounding frequency.
I am enamored with you,
enraptured by you,
ensorcelled by your every charm.
It’s amazing how much I’ve invested in your existence
with so little engagement on your part.
Perhaps that’s just part of your magic: the lightest effort
yields the greatest results.

I’m not sure at all
if I want to get deeper
into this mess
or wish to be free of you
and your trickery
but that doubt might just be
the brainwashing at work.

Certainly, with these powers at your disposal,
I needn’t worry at all about your safety.
Your conjurations leave you better protected
than I ever could
for whoever could possibly escape your skills?

The folio you lost
is maybe the best of all time,
containing the most timeless
of words,
the most creative
of concepts,
and the most effortless
of execution.

The most beautiful girl
you ever saw
was the one you spied
eye-corner fleeting
while getting off the train
as she got on.
She was perfect, that girl
(and no doubt now a woman).

The thing that can never be retrieved,
that can never be seen again,
will be missed far more
than anything mired
by the mud of the earth.
Isn’t that just the way?

If somehow,
we could treasure the things
that are closest to us,
not just the falling stars
of the night,
that would be a precious skill.

Alas, that goal
flies against human nature
and is thus unobtainable
and so,
we want it all the more.

The bum scammed me
out of ten dollars
but gave me fables enough
that maybe it was a fair deal.

His sob story lasted maybe half an hour
maybe more
and not once did he ask for money
though his appeals became decreasingly subtle.

I begrudge him nothing.
I don’t want the ten bucks back.
I just want credit
for my largesse
and maybe a reserved spot in heaven
for being taken in
by such a charming old man.

Just because you have nothing to say
is no reason not to express yourself vociferously.
You can have nonsense opinions,
inconsistent within the sentence
and shout them from the rafters.
You come from a tradition
that takes that
almost as religion.

So worship the lord or lady
of dumb screaming.
You can say something stupid
in song or story,
poem or picture,
film or fluid or funk instrumental.

Just randomly pick something to say
and insist on it
at absolute volume
just like this.