jonberger

Five hundred years ago Giovanni da Verrazzano came to the New York area
being the first known Westerner to declare doing so.
April seventeenth celebrates him.

I’m not positive that I want to celebrate
the desecration of the native lives that his coming
predicated,
but I acknowledge that my existence here in the Bronx
would be inconceivable without Giovanni’s prior involvement.

My convenient life, as well as the suffering of millions of others
is built upon Giovanni’s voyages,
so there is that.

Well done!

All alone at night, looking for a sign of light

looking for a sign of life, an excuse to avoid the knife.
Some voice to cut through the fog.
Some sound to come closer to God.
Someone to get out of this clime.
Something to save you this time.
You see nothing.
You feel nothing.
You taste nothing.
You hear… you hear… the radio…

Listen to the radio station.
Never know what you’re gonna hear.
Listen to the radio station.
Don’t succumb to any your fears.
Listen to the radio station.
Doesn’t matter if it’s crystal clear.
Listen to the radio station.

Listen to the radio station.

What you hear changes repeatedly.
It doesn’t matter. It fits your mood.
And though the sounds range categorically,
you’re simply loving being wooed.
The radio is there for you.
It tells you exactly what to do.
The radio is here for you.
The radio is here for you…

Listen to the radio station.
Never know what song’s coming on.
Listen to the radio station.
The DeeJay will tell you exactly when’s the dawn.
Listen to the radio station.
If you need an answer, it’s here for you.
Listen to the radio station.

It will pull you through.
The radio station.

Just listen:
The radio station’s here for you.
Just listen:
The radio station’ll get you through
Just listen:
When has radio ever lied to you?
Just listen:
Well it won’t this time. It won’t this time.

The radio is here for you.

On the Planet of the Eights on a deep blue sea.
This may not be the place for me.
Perhaps I belong on the planet of the Threes
where I might reside more naturally
but here I float, crooked and free
where I land as they stare at me uneasily.
I introduce myself through weird goatee.
They ain’t all models, but they’re a sight to see.

The people on the planet, they all look good.
They’re not quite perfect, but it’s understood
their imperfections will all reach a state
of minor inconvenience then dissipate – then they all look great.
I’m a minor celeb for a little while.
My shape is weird, but they like my style.
I’m an interesting figure so I get good press
then I fade from the scene and must quiesce.

I am lost on the Planet of the Eights!
They can all find more attractive mates!
I’ve got prospects for lots of hot dates!
My sexual opportunities are going great!
I am lost on the Planet of the Eights!

Can I stay in this place? Should I go?
My Clash tape won’t answer me Yes or No.
No decision is coming on my own
so I opt for chance to tell by flipping a stone.
Rough side leaves, and stay with the smooth side.
And then I figure out about taking the ride
off the planet, if I have the need
– which I have to since both sides had been keyed.

So I’m looking for a spaceship off this world
to get me safely to a place where Fives can be curled
up with their Six girlfriends safely in their beds
and not worry about being beat out every day instead.
I sneak out to their Space Station Dock
and I say, "Hey. Look over there!" and then I just sock!
the guard. He really takes it easy cuz he’s dumb.
They all are here. That’s life for Eights. It’s how it goes, it comes.

Now I’m escaping the Planet of the Eights!
They can live on in their ignorance of always lifting weights!
I’ll be home soon, eating carb-filled plates
back in my own United States
and I’ll be free from the Planet of the Eights!

The ways you describe yourself make me want to change.
Your issues in life
may have had nothing to do with mine
but the pains of your past
make me curdle sometimes
and I wish to cut parts off
to try to retroactively
fix you.

I think of offering you tasty slivers of flesh
as restitution,
suspecting it will do little good
but hoping it might please you
somewhat.

I just did a quick check
and was surprised to discover
that she was still at it.

A performer I haven’t seen
in at least six years
is still plying her trade
just at clubs markedly different from mine.

That’s really just as well.
If you don’t have anything nice to say
leave the room before you explode.

It looks like she’s doing well,
receiving applause
and winning awards.

There’s no reason
why everyone
shouldn’t have an audience
for their own form of art.

Better that there’s space for all.
It is a finer world this way.
All is good.

Excuse me, please.

Ever find yourself typing a word you didn’t mean to
and don’t want to have wasted the process?
Just recycle the word in your further writing!
Here’s how:

Say you accidentally wrote: frig when you didn’t mean to.

Just isolate the frig word and then introduce the letters into your text:

(ex. I wanted to go out with my friends g )

If you find there are excess letters of the word (like that useless g), then delete them, and go on with your day.

And that’s the art of recycling text.

Is it a waste of time and energy?

Absolutely!

Wouldn’t you be better off deleting the text and starting fresh?

No doubt!

Any other questions?

I am a conservative in the sense that I like to conserve things
in the sense that I like to save things
in the sense that I am a hoarder.

In this way,
when I have an idea,
I like to see it used
so that it isn’t wasted.
This is loss aversion.
In this sense I am a bad broker.

There were several sentences I just aborted
from a poem I killed
from a few days ago.
It went nowhere.
I’m not sorry to see them go,
as a better poem was written
but I thought for a minute
of trying to recycle the letters in other poems.
Recycling letters is a really bothersome process.
Even trying to explain it would cause a headache.
I’m going to conserve some brain cells
and just drop the matter here.

I have had too much ice cream this month.
I think many people in my immediate vicinity
have become aware of this.
To them I would like to apologize.

It has gotten dangerous.
Soon, we will be passed all this
If we survive that long.

The real estate agent was happy to get rid of it
because of the unfortunate name.
The land had been used by a cult for weird sex acts
– hence the name.

Now that I had the fornicators’ plot for my very own,
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it
except to hope that my land’s value
would fucking multiply.

I have never been less than Zeke.
When I’ve been strong, he’s been weak.
I’m a cool dude, he’s a geek.
Relatively, I’m at my peak.

If you look at us, I’m superior!
Especially comparing our exteriors!
If you ask about our anteriors,
I’ll have to ask for a definition

but I have never been less than Zeke.
Don’t you compare me to that little freak.
If you like him better, you must be tweaked.
The boy’s too mild and milquetoast meek.

You can keep him and his books besides.
I don’t care if you like his insides.
Your choice is dumb. Who cares how you decides?
At least I still have got my prides.

I have never been less than Zeke…