In his arms
she is so hot.
I didn’t think anything of the kind
when she was mine.
Her heat was tempered
by proximity
and it is only with the distance
of time
that I can see
the significance
of her temperate.
She is hot to me now
when tempers and passions
have cooled
like her revenge
which has been served
by her living so well
in his arms.
I’m too old for this kind of racing.
I don’t have the breadth
or stamina anymore.
I don’t even mean to try
but sometimes
I find a bus just pulling out
or a creditor closing in
and the only thing there seems
to be to do
is put the pedal to the metal
or the rubber to the road
or a third thing I’m not fast enough
to think of right now.
Occasionally, I simply have to get moving
to stretch and sweat and strive
like a younger man would
and find
that I cannot.
I hate
that when it comes down to it
I must admit
I’m not half the man I used to be
in yesteryears
and that
as I speed towards my own end
that I’m too old for this shit.
The game is not meant to be won.
The game is meant to be played.
You’re supposed to be active
and in that way
you are expected to find joy.
Winning isn’t the goal.
Goals are not the goal
nor scores
or records
or singles
or any other accomplishment
– other than pleasure.
You have to learn how to play
if
you expect to gain anything
in the game
at all.
There’s nothing you can do.
Rather,
there’s nothing you will do.
I’ll get better
on my own
without your help
or kindnesses
or interference.
I will heal
and rise above this
and it will be something I do alone
like so many other things
from now on.
I will grow
and become bigger
and harder
than this little catastrophe before me.
I shall overcome
someday
and will look back on this
and laugh.
I’ll be laughing at you,
I think,
and how
much it seemed to mean at the time
but how little it affected things
in the long run.
It will be a long run
until I reach that future
but I’ll get there
on my own
without you.
You could have been so much less.
So much smaller
with such little significance.
You could have been an ant
or a cloud
or some space schmutz
or from Kent.
You could have been one
with no choices
no opportunity
no potential.
You could have been untapped.
You could have been a fraction.
You could have been irrelevant.
You could have been unloved
unappreciated
untouched.
You could have been so much less
so why
must you complain
so loudly
about what you’ve got?
Fight it.
You can do it
I know you can.
The jackal can be beaten
and victory wrested from its most likely holder.
Just try.
Just work
harder than you’ve ever worked before
and
you may find
you’ll get what you want
and – even better –
you may want different things
things that you more reasonably deserve.
Just fight it.
Just strive.
Just become your best iteration
and you will be rewarded.
I know you can.
I’m certain it was around here…
I could swear it was just down –
I can’t.
I – try as I might –
can’t figure out
where your old place was.
I was so drunk
that night
When I first found you.
I was so drunk
and high
on the excitement of the night.
I don’t know where I was
or how I got there
or how
I realize now
I could ever get back.
How will I find you again?
How will I ever
be able to arrive at that singular place
where I was so so happy?
Maybe it’s around this corner…
No.
No, I just can’t find it
and I fear
I may never find it again.
Please send me your words.
It has been so long
and you have been so very quiet.
Even if you do not remember me
I think of your writing
with such ferocity
and frequency
and I have read none of it
lately.
I would have more of it.
Please, provide me what you can.
Send word of where you are
what you do
and why you are nowhere near here.
I very much miss your writing
– and other things, too.
I would swallow a tree for you.
Not, like, in a sexual way.
Just, as, you know,
an extra source of fiber.
I would eat the promises of the past
making new truths
while admitting yesterday’s errors.
I would forgo all of what was
for you
and the promise of something new.
I would chew worms
suck sour psoriasis scars
stop eating the courses I once so adored.
I would do what you tell me to
or even the things I think you might like.
I would dare for you
because I care for you.
Please, do with me what you wish.
Say you will.
Let me take you out
to dinner.
By the time the chicken thaws
I doubt that I’ll be hungry.
When it’s ready to be cooked,
you’ll have surely flown the coop.
When those thighs become unfrozen
I suspect that I’ll be single
and you’ll have quit your membership
in our special little group.
Before I turn the gas on
I sense we’ll not be speaking
and our doors will slam repeatedly
prior to marinade.
Rather than eat, we argue
if the last three weeks are honest
and we’ll soon complete another fight
our future further betrayed.
I think I could get past this
diet we have started
where instead of making meals
we simply go to war.
If I hadn’t realized that
between my heart and stomach
and all the hate I have for one
I love you that much more
jonberger 