I won’t accept your drink offer
unless I really want to buy you a drink
and I rarely do
so I’m probably not gonna be drinking with you.
I’m aware of reciprocity
and I don’t want to enter into it
unless I’m willing to go all the way.
I’ll take some of your fries, sure,
but don’t want to go any further than that
for fear of my owing too much.
It is something
to be fiercely avoided.
Thanks for the offer, though.
You thought I didn’t hear
when you played last night
but I did.
I heard that new song
and I’m pretty sure
I know what it’s about.
So fuck you.
Is that really the way
you think it happened?
You ignored like
everything I said
and tried to do.
Everything!
I didn’t leave you there.
You chose to stay.
I begged you to –
and anyway
you’d been trying to get me to go
for hours.
Hours…
I can’t believe
this is the version of the story
you wanted to tell.
It wasn’t my fault.
I felt awful
and after I’d begged you to come with me.
Figuratively begged.
But look:
art is art.
You get to paint me
with whatever kind of brush
and color
and canvas you want.
I’ll take it
even if
you’ll only sing it
when you think I can’t hear.
If you think fast
you can fix it.
If you act fast
you can get out of this.
If you have the flash
of inspiration
you’ve been waiting for
for all these hours
then you’ll be able
maybe
to pull this out of your ass
again
and no one will know you’re a fraud.
If you get through this
you can plan better
for next time
so you never have
to act this fast
this desperately again.
You’ll learn your lesson.
You’ll be prepared.
You’ll do that
if this one works out.
You’ll do that
if you find the way
to act fast.
What happens
when you have like
eight things to say
and you try to say them
for say, a thousand times?
Do you think folks are going to be interested
after, maybe,
the fourteenth iteration?
Don’t you think people might get bored?
You may believe
you have a multitude of ways
to express those eight ideas,
but what if you’re wrong?
What if you actually do have a multitude
but it’s a small multitude
and nowhere near enough
to be original each and every time?
What if you’re repetitive?
What if you’re repetitive?
What if you keep dipping from the same well
over and over
and over and over?
What if you have less to say
than you think you do?
What then?
When it’s time
to bury me,
don’t.
I’m still alive
in that husk of a body.
I may not seem it,
may seem much less talkative
than you’re used to,
but there is a little bit of me
waiting for the use
of those new magical sciences
to bring me back
and make me
at least partially
what I once was.
I may return as a zombie
or a vampire
or a necrotic android
or a disembodied voice
in your head
on a screen
close to your heart.
I will still be around
if you allow it.
Do not bury me
when I am gone
for I will not truly die
unless you let me.
I’m a little disappointed in Amber
whom I just heard got married to John.
I’d been under the impression
that she had come out
and for her to go back on her word
that truly saddens me.
Certainly, people can change their minds,
but updating one’s opinion on their very sexuality,
that leaves a great many supporters of the cause
depressed, down-trodden,
feeling dumped.
What about about the people, Amber?
I get it.
You don’t have to live for others
have no need to react based on my beliefs
but, really, couldn’t you have spoken to me
before finding someone new to love?
Shouldn’t there have at least been a consult?
Fine, Amber.
Go your own way.
Do what you will
but don’t come to me
if you change your mind again
and find yourself out of your depths.
On April eighteenth in thirty eight
a flying dream gained some weight
as after years of thought and pride
began the Superman’s first ride.
He came to newsstands, pharmacies
on lower spots so’s kids could sees
the cover of his number one
comic appearance in Action.
On that cover showed the star
lifting overhead a car
while others screamed and raced and ran
from the strength of Superman.
The hero flew out of the stores
as men and women sought for more
comic books with fresh content
so all the copies came and went.
Original the medium was
though in tradition comic does
exist with history tied to pulp
another form where readers gulp
up content, buying out
all issues sold, like from a spout
and also in the papers dripped
the popular form, the comic strip.
All came together on that day
for Superman to hold full sway
on book form, radio and TV
and eventually: movie.
So thank you, Action number one
for scores of years and tons of fun
and also authors: Jerry, Joe
for our very first superhero.
When I was fourteen
I had my last fistfight
which was more of a footfight
as we kept trying to knee each other
until the school guard came by
to separate us
which we allowed all to willingly.
I was trying to defend my pal Stephe
from Chris while Jenn watched.
I don’t know why
I had to defend Stephe’s honor
but that seemed to be the order
of business for the day.
I didn’t beat Chris
nor he me.
We were in a magnet school
for science kids
so we were both
probably more used to taking a blow
than dealing one.
But
not since
have I actively fought with someone
done that kind of damage
or felt it.
Since
so many of my battles
have proved worse.
Sometimes
a space is needed
to rest
to reset
to refuel.
A time
for going to separate corners
and taking a break.
A chance for the round to end
to put a period on the sentence
and start afresh.
Sometimes
you need to get out of it
and recoup your thoughts
reboot your soul
reassess your beliefs.
Eventually
everyone needs to take time off
before restarting
and whaling on each other once again.
Time in.
We fumble with belts
buckles
shirts.
We mumble
through feelings
moans.
We bumble through
actions and arguments
trying to connect
to comment
on each other’s situations
failing.
Falling
we tumble down cliffs
crashing
harassing our states of comfort
breaking against stones and sand.
Finally
we crumble into each other
becoming something else
with what we have shared.
jonberger 