jonberger

They speak of your powers
as far away as West 13th Street
– the East Side doesn’t know you.
They say you have the power to heal
with a touch.

I pray, will you use your gift
to cure me of my ails?
I hurt,
and I cannot find the means to cure myself,
not with bandage or pill
or drink or drug.
Nothing fixes me, mistress,
but perhaps you have the capacity to help.

Lay your fingers ‘pon my form, perchance,
and make me better.
Stop the pain.
Cease the distress that causes such sickness.
I have faith in your ability
and you
to work out my woes
and make my difficulties disappear.

I cry
in my soul
and I think that your touch could cure me.
Make it go away.
Relieve me.

Or a hand job would do the trick.

There are bad things out there.
Hell, there are bad things in here.
Temptation surrounds us.
It’s like everybody on the planet has a vice
– and I’m not talking Vance.

I’ve got friends who gamble,
who smoke, who fill themselves with grease or sugar.
There’s one fellow who shoots up essential oils on a daily basis. Everybody has a vice.
Me: I maintain a superiority complex
unjustified by even the thinnest strands of evidence.

I spend days deciding what the world owes me
because of my natural wits and wisdom
and my charm and adequate looks.
I am astonished
how things don’t constantly go my way
considering how worthy I am.

It is not a vice that has served me very well
at any point in my life.
This sense of superiority is unearned
but it is powerful.
As far as vices go,
it is perhaps the greatest.

Back when I was young
I would bike around and count all the other vehicles I passed. It was a competition, and I was winning.

Now that I am old,
and watch bicycle after tricycle pass me by,
I realize how unhealthy my behavior was.

I was not racing.
There was no need to compare to others.
I could chose to recognize my own accomplishments
without worrying about how others did.
“Eyes on your own test, Jonathan.”

I know better now
and live a wiser life,
now that I am the slowest rider in the city
watching bicycle after tricycle pass me by.

The way to wisdom is to learn to be right.
To do this, you must listen to yourself
– but only when correct.
Know when to keep the voices in your head at bay.
Internal reflection must be avoided at all costs.
Just quiet your personal demons and avert thought.

It is a danger to be too close to madness
and madness comes when you think too much
so don’t think
at all.

Take this lesson
and know it well
and don’t question it
for that would require thought.

You know it isn’t, but you say things are looking up.
You tell people you’re doing all right,
that it’s turning out fine
that the world is a glorious place to be
and you wouldn’t choose anyplace else.

You know it’s not true
but you think you’re being treated better
that your job is getting easier
your commute shorter.
You state that your suspicions are unconfirmed
and you don’t know what you were so worried about.

You believe, you tell everybody
that this might be the best year yet
but you know it isn’t.

There is a museum
dedicated to the archeologist Heinrich Schliemann
who they say discovered Troy.
It’s situated in Germany, at the house in which he grew uo
and features letters and excavation notes from his sites.

Is it weird
that there’s a museum
for the guy who got stuff for museums?
Isn’t it a little bit inside baseball?

Did Schliemann know anything about baseball?
Maybe cricket instead?
We could probably learn at the museum.

Maybe somewhere there’s a museum of museums.
Anything’s conceivable in this meta world.

You’ve got a problem you need solved and don’t know what to do?
Go to the block to see the guy whose office is on Two.
Walk stairs up and enter, he may offer you drinks.
You tell him ’bout your problem; he’ll tell you what he thinks.

Deadeye Sam: he’s your slam man and he loves Wham! – though George Michael leaves him cold.
He’s the best and likes to rest lying undressed – just like the days of old.
He’s Deadeye Sam and gives no damn about the Rams – it’s soccer he adores.
This guy is real; he’s the real deal. That’s how it feels: falsity he abhors.
He is… Deadeye Sam!

You want to get to Deadeye before he gets too drunk
and loses strength of bladder, or else you’ll smell his funk.
Sammy’s got his troubles. Yep, just like everyone
But he can get you out of jam when you’re under the gun.

He’s Deadeye Sam. He’ll dam the plans that find you jammed if you need him to.
If quick help you require, advance the pay he’s due
and get out of his way. He’ll save the day and say he planned it like that.
When you’ve got someone dogging your tracks, then Deadeye Sam’s your cat.

Do not judge
lest you
in turn
be judged.

You cannot
after all
spell odious
without Us and I.

Never ever stop for Seth, ‘cuz he won’t stop for you.
Seth’s the sort that doesn’t stare, he simply looks right through
and goes about his journey like he’d never share a ride;
our Seth would never have a companion by his side.

Give glance to young Seth today, while he is at his work
driving ’round from place to place with his trademark smirk.
He acts as if there’s not a single hitcher out to hike.
For all he knows, behind their backs, each one has a bike.

Never ever stop for Seth, because for one like he,
there is no “Reciprocity” within the dictionary.
No one gives and no one shares, and all are on their own.
So Seth rides in his big bus, gliding all alone.

She left the money on the table
(which I found very convenient)
so I picked it up
pocketed it
and rushed to the hardware store
before it closed.

I handed over the cash my mother provided
and got the paint stripper I needed
to start the home repairs
I said I’d do.

Tomorrow,
I will start to strip!
Who knows
when it will end?