jonberger

I don’t want to make a big thing out of this but
it bothers me
when you act like
I can’t hurt your feelings anymore.

When you just shake your head and sigh
when I dig at you
asking about your weight
or your career
or who you are seeing these days.
It devalues me
that you pretend
that I can no longer devalue you.

I am a sensitive man
and I have a sensitive man’s needs
and I need to believe
that our time together meant something
but if I am unable to destabilize you
like the days of yore,
if you’re not interested in listening to my trash talk
what does that say about me?

I’m not asking you to change anything.
You should be the person you were meant to be
and if that person is too and high and mighty
to feel for me,
then so be it.
So be it,
bitch.

In a garden with the girl
and saturated colors
that make this a moment to say things
that should be said
and receive answers
that have been waited for.

I tell her
I like her
and maybe something more
and she stops,
looks deeply for a moment,
smiles wanly while tilting her head to the side
and says I know.

She shrugs
smiles again and walks away.
It is perhaps the most hurtful she has ever been.
This is a garden
in which nothing true
can ever grow.

I could love you if you were smarter.
I could love you if you were prettier.
I could love you if you were hotter
or our arguments less heated
or if it you could control the fucking humidity.

I could love you if you were thinner.I could love you if your wisdom was deeper.
I could love you if you were richer,
less rotten, more romantic.
I could love you if you had rhythm.

I could love you if you were better.
I could love you if you were sweeter.
I could love you if you were the least bit lovable
or
had showed at least a little evidence that you might be. I could love if you were loving
if you had loved me.
I could love you
if I did
but I don’t.

When you go, I die
just a little bit,
but, with passing time,
more and more.

Food, music, friends
all lose meaning.
In your absence,
all else seems insubstantial.
I lose perspective.

I lose weight.
I become not half the man I used to be,
shadows falling right through me
as, invisibly,
I stalk our former haunts.
I whisper, not speak.
I float, not tread.
I stride unseen, as no one about
finds any use for me.

All I want
is for you to use me
but you are gone
like every significant part of me.
I am a ghost
waiting for you
to rejuvenate me.

He said “May I kiss you?”
She laughed – as he was afraid she would –
and he thought, “I should not have asked.
A real man would not request.
A real man wouldn’t wait.
A real man would have risked, would have dared
would have been prepared for the consequences
of delay.

A real man would know the answer to the question
before laughter could provide all the answer he could need.”

He bowed his head,
unwilling to speak again.
What happened next
was less anticipated.

“I am pleased,” she said, “that you such a gentleman.
That is the sort of man I am looking for.”

She smiled and gave him a greater look
a deeper look
a more appreciative lock.
“I will think on that you have asked,”
she told him, “if,”
she continued, “you buy me another drink.”

He did.
He did often.
and she found herself
eventually
laughing on the other side of her face.

We should fuck goodbye
We should have our closure viscerally,
say everything we need to say,
without words.

We should end the way we began:
with such fucking drama.
We should struggle.
We should sweat.
We should fight and feud fiercely for forty five fucking minutes
– if I can stand that long.

We should fuck farewell
part friends
or whatever term you decided to use.
We should exit like we came:
explosively energetically, and often, asynchronously..
It’s all that kept us going at the last
so let is be out last.

Let us go out with a bang.
We should fuck goodbye.

With the West Village rolled out before us,
she said It is good we are in a place for wandering.
As we passed a shuttering lower shop,
she said I am sorry.
I have no intention of hurting you.
You won’t, I replied,
unclear on the reference.
She made no effort to respond.
The stroll continued.

Our silence became less awkward
more comfortable
She palmed an apple from a passed fruit stand.
She took one bite you handled it to me.
Take what you want, she said, I am done.
I didn’t understand. After one bite?
How much
could she appreciate the flavor
the nutrients
the entirety of the apple
after that simple sample?
Surely she would want more –
unless the apple was bad…

I had no idea where she was going.
I’m a bit lost, I said,
She said you won’t be for long
as we arrived on West Twelfth.

Soon
a very many things
became a great deal clearer.

Alex Norelli came to my show
and then got pissed when I didn’t go to his
because I had “better things to do”
so he’s boycotting me
in the most passive aggressive way:
“I’d love to come see you,”
he says,
“But my twin sister is on her deathbed.”
Whatever. I know what’s going on.

Alex Norelli is missing my show
and cutting off his nose
to spite my face
but my face is unspited
(Spite-free? Facially uninspited?
Whatever).
He is missing out
on what is no doubt
a life-changing experience.
He is missing me
play with my band
and we don’t suck.

Alex Norelli is at serious risk
of embarrassing himself
before his peers
by missing JUANBURGUESA play
at Tuesday, August 26th
at the Sidewalk Cafe.

Don’t be like Alex Norelli.
Be careful.
Be aware.
Come to my show.

What Might Have Been

The epic
I was about to compose
about the state of the geriatric
and the infirm
and the devolved
has been euthanized
before birth.
Aborted.
That’s the word I was thinking of.
It’s gone
is what’s important
gone
before it started.

The thesis
I meant to initiate
has been disproved.
I no longer believe
that every single oldster
and retard
and blonde
should e exorcisms from the population.
I no longer have zero tolerance
for the terminal.
I have turned a corner.
I have changed my mind.

I have experienced a change of wart
And no longer wish to screed against the short
or act against octogenarians
or beat on brats or
or anything else.
I’m a better man
who doesn’t hate
like he used to
which may upset my followers
just a little bit.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for barging in.
I’m sure the time isn’t right
and the mood inappropriate
and the witnesses
– all these people
at the table
celebrating your birthday with you
and your grandparents –
hi!
I’m Jon!
I should start over.

I’m sorry for bothering you
for coming to this dinner party
to which I see I wasn’t invited
– were you using my old company’s email address?
I – whatever.
I don’t want to get off-track.

I do, though,
want to get your attention.
I want to get you to see
that this time when we’ve been apart
has been an eternity for me
and while maybe better for you,
I think we could end the dissension
and enter detente.

We have been separated too long.
We were good together
when we fucked
the sheets would drip with enthusiasm
– or maybe something else.
It was incredible.

And I’m sure I said some things
and I know you thought some things
and I think we both let our mouths get ahead of our heads
but we’ve had time to steam
and simmer
and, suffice to say,
consider our positions,
and I’m ready to try again, babe.

Do you think we can?
I don’t need an answer right away.
Just… enjoy your dinner
with the family.
And your fiance.
It’s just…
it’s been too long since we’ve been together.
I couldn’t bear another seven years apart.