The green stuff you keep trying to feed me…what’s with that?
What do you expect me to do with that?
It’s slimy!
The way it just slides around on the plate,
it’s weird.
I can’t believe you think this is consumable
by human forms.
And healthy?
Really?
How does that work out?
I’m finding it hard to imagine that these pieces could possibly work out to be good for anybody.
Really, this… salad thing seems just like a bad time, all around.
In a past life, I was a Bluetooth printer.
I don’t think it was a very good one.
Couldn’t have been that long ago,
or maybe time isn’t sequential like that.
Not quite sure.
Anyway, I printed personal items for a family,
I believe,
and then random people started printing
because they didn’t protect access.
No one could get the printouts, though.
Weird.
Strange life.
I wouldn’t recommend it.
Maybe next time, I can be a sailboat!
She lay hands on me
and energy coursed through.
I lay there
prone on the bed,
hoping for a healing.
My back had bothered me
aching and squirming
making me curve
a little past forever.
Diane had offered a possible solution.
I’d never tried reiki, but
I was happy to look into any kind of technique that could offer relief.
So here she was in my apartment,
feeling me up,
pouring herself into me.
I could definitely feel something.
Soon enough, I was snoring.
When I came to,
I thought my back felt better,
but I wasn’t sure.
I couldn’t do handstands or anything,
but that was nothing new.
“I could tell you were comfortable,” Diane said, “When you farted.”
“Oh,” I was mortified.
“I took it as a good sign.” She went on,
“that the treatment was working.”
I thanked her for her work.
I haven’t been reiki’d since.
Even at my advanced years
(It’s rude to ask a gentleman his age),
I still find I like to speed through things,
rather than enjoy the ride.
It’s the journey, they say,
and I do like a road trip,
but I also like to arrive.
I want to make good time.
I want to be efficient;
I don’t want to dilly dally,
even if the dallying is why I’ve gone off
in the first place.
Smelling the roses, may be the point,
after all,
and what is poetry
but taking a moment
to notice the small things?
My mother said she has never ridden a roller coaster.
I have almost never ridden a roller coaster.
I didn’t realize that was an inherited trait.
That shit is scary.
I don’t know what my father’s position was on such things.
I suspect he was coaster agnostic;
no strong opinions either way.
Since It’s a little late to get verification,
I’ll have to live without the knowledge.
I’m a little surprised that Mom didn’t have a terrifying ride experience
to discover that she didn’t like them.
I went to DisneyLand and realized, “I don’t need to do that again.”
Perhaps I should investigate her story
a little more closely.
Find what you care about.
Learn to disregard it.
Discover how to destroy it.
Enact.
Repeat.
Enjoy.
The lines are long
the patience is short
the staff is nice
the neighborhood’s not.
Device battery power remains insuffien
My writing project has fallen on hard times.
I’d kept up to date.
doing amazing quantitative work
until two days ago,
when scheduling and laziness came together
to bottom me out,
leaving me in the position to catch up ever since.
Today, I woke up needing to write forty two poems
to regain control of my schedule.
An impossible task.
My day isn’t helping either.
Jury duty’s trying to put me on a case,
and I’d love to explain,
“Judge, I would be happy to find this criminal
and/or civil defendant guilty or liable today,
but I have an entirely voluntary poetry quota to meet
(the quality of what I write is not important;
just so long as I write the number of poems, it’s all right)!”
I doubt the theoretical judge would be sympathetic.
Though I won’t catch up, I’m working at a healthy clip,
and I’ve scheduled lighter days
for the rest of the month,
just in case crises came up.
So I should still be able to come out of my hole.
Don’t count this boy out yet!
Mediocre is defined as “straight up the middle,”
like Middle of the Road radio programming was.
Both have a negative connotation, though.
I think I support that negative.
Who wants average?
Huey Lewis & the News is pretty average.
“Power of Love” is optimum Huey Lewis + News materiel,
so it’s the epitome of averageosity,
simply perfect in its mediocrity.
I did not like it when it came out,
when I had a care for the band.
It has not much grown on me.
I’ll bet it has its supporters;
I believe it charted.
I’m sure it’s an excellent song
for those who like that sort of thing.
If that’s not the perfect sentence for “Power of Love,”
I don’t know what is.
The single choc’lit ball I snuck this morning
is not enough to curb my hunger today.
What was I thinking?
That was no balanced diet!
I need a million choc’lit balls to keep me going!
Only that will keep me sated.
Only that will tamp me down.
Give me the sugar that I crave,
the flavors I rave about,
the choc’lit I savor!
I need it now…
Otherwise, how will I make it through the next eight minutes
until lunch time?
Sorry.
Three minutes.
jonberger 