jonberger

The bear is coming your way.Beware! He’s got a lot to say.
He’s gonna tell it to you anyway,
whatever you might wish, come what may…

The bear’s a creature of some power
who goes across the world to scour,
finding those he may devour
of some weak-will to become vowers.

The bear is coming to your town
to transform you from current clown
into a creature of renown.
So you might as well calm down.

The bear has come to claim your fate.
It’ll happen on the current date.
There’s not a chance for a debate.
So come to grips and don’t be late.

The bear is coming up to you.
There’s nothing else for you to do.
Accept it now, the day is due.
Your time had come up in the queue.

Dully, I ask her to repeat herself. "I said, ‘You gave me an inch, so I took your smile.’"
she replies, the retarded mimi makeup beginning to run down her neck.

I stare before me
at the chaotic scene surrounding:
the headless chickens, the spritzing circuits,
the harried seamen, the broken glass on the ferry,
my bloody crotch, and the small blonde mime, shrugging, feigning guilt.

"So, because our consensual sex was unsatisfactory -"
"- because of your small penis -"
"- because of my small penis, yes… you decided to cut it off,
while pirating this boat, all for the sake of a pun?"
She nods, excitedly.
I’m about to faint, so I want my last question to count.
As I fall, I ask, "What about the chickens?"

She says something about cocks
and I’m gone.

When Josh visited me at college,
I noticed that lots of girls flocked to him.
Now, I know that my old friend was charming, but he wasn’t that charming.
What was going on?
It took a couple of minutes
for my ra(cism)dar to kick in
and I realized “his color sets him apart.
They’re not used to his kind around here.”

I don’t know for sure
where the population of the school was from.
Maybe city folk all, they were familiar with minorities,
so the likes of Josh was no big thing,
but it didn’t seem that way.
It seemed he was a bigger hit
than the couple sentences he’d uttered would suggest.
Josh took it all in stride.
He’d been to prep school in Massachusetts,
so had probably seen this kind of thing before.

When we got a minute alone, I asked him what he thought.
“Jon,” he said, “these hippie folk are dorks like us.
They’re impressed by tree limbs. You’re too much in your own head, man.”
I was still sure it was about prejudice.
Josh shook his head. “You do you, my guy.”

My friend swore to me he did not get laid several times
during his weekend at my school.
I chose to believe him.

“Once, there was the ground
and from that, all else came.”
“That’s… that’s it? That is your creation myth?”
“That is all you need.”
“It’s a little light on the details.”
“As is the universe.”
“But don’t creation stories try to explain things?”
“I suppose. They usually fail, though.”
“Yeah…”
“This myth just has a bit more mystery than most.”
“Right. Well, I doubt very much that I’m converting, then.”
“Before you decide, you should try our moss.”
“…How do I take it?”
“Anyway you like.”
“…”
“Well?”
“…”
“What do you think?”
“…I think you’ve got a new acolyte.”

The stink in Belize from the incoming breeze wasn’t hard to believe for the season.
See, the seaweed would ride upon each brand new tide. The smell of sargassum’s the reason.
It will smell of old eggs whether you stretch your legs or go swimming or look at the sea.
It is there day and night. If a lock there’s to fight this biothreat exists, there’s no key.

It made holidays glum to arrive after summer, since the water gets hard to approach.
If you want to get near it. You have to not fear it, and it smells very much like a roach.
So the tourists come less to economy’s distress, to cause coffers’ dismay. No surprise.
A solution must come, but so far there is none. And so hope dwindles before our own eyes!

So there we were, in the middle of the movie
and I had no idea what was going on

like I fell asleep during the credits
and woke up now.
Who was even in this?
Maybe I slept through the credits, too.

It looks like a period piece,
only every one seems to be an insect
and – am I a character in it?
Are they talking to me?
Am I an insect, too?
AM I A KAFKA CHARACTER?
Guilty as charged?
Weird.

All right, gotta get into this, now.
So why am I jumping out the window?
Do I even have control of my body?
Is this now a Michael Bay historical Kafkaesque insect feature?
Damn! If I weren’t in it, I’d stream the hell out of this!

Wonder what happens next…

Hey.

I’m pretty certain you’ll never forgive me
and I can see that point of view.
I still feel the need,
every decade or so,
to reach out,
say hello,
and wish you well.

I hope someday,
you’ll be tired of the hate
and maybe remember
what we meant to each other.

Probably that’s too much to ask for
but maybe not too much to hope for.

I’ve been having trouble feeling all the things I need to feel.
So I went to the philosopher to ask her what was real.
She looked at me and said, “Kid, you need better eyes.”
That’s when I realized, “I might need a neuroscientist.”

I kept looking for solutions in the world out there.
But it’s not like outside sources could quite teach me how to care.
Still I needed to learn something important about how to emote;
how to love on this crazy planet – catch passion by the throat!

I’ve been squeezing lemons to wring all its tears out
and I really do not understand what crying’s all about.
If emotion’s so important, then can someone tell me why
don’t the kittens cry?

I am years into my search and it’s not gotten easier.
I’ve been questing down so many roads and some are sleazier
than I’d have ever imagined, but still, you find strong emotions there.
If you can find folks caring for folks in garbage piles, you can find them anywhere.

Still I can’t help feeling stuck here like a sociopath,
just a creature under heaven waiting to suffer god’s wrath.
I can hope there is some better fate in the universe
out there to befall me.

I’ve been cutting out potato’s eyes to see what they can see
and I really do not get how they differ from you and me.
If emotion’s so important, then can someone tell me why
don’t the kittens cry?

Aashish demands his poetry.
He wants to be more known.
He wishes for more links to be sent to his telephone.
“Write of me!” He thus insists, and that, he thinks, is that,
no doubt, suspecting his command will paint him as a prat.

But still, the boy will get his wish, for who denies his smile?
Who refuses such a face that whines that long a while?
Aashish will get his rhymes in time. They’ll be delivered quick.
But the next poem he receives will come by way of brick.

Do not look up.The sun is a furious orange
glaring vengeance upon you for what you’ve done.
The air is heavy, weighing down your every step.
There are pains everywhere you dare imagine
– so do think.
Do not move.
Do not breathe, if you can avoid it.
Simply do not.

Yesterday was a bad move, all in all,
one best avoided.
One best forgotten.

If you can simply stop,
that would be best.
Just… stop.