College days, lunch used to be a trillion hours long
literally
with us sitting around the dining commons
talking about nothing
negotiating conversations on subjects
silly and sublime.
I would ringlead
be the last to leave.
Classes were unimportant
and rarely scheduled immediately after lunch.
The dining commons
used to be owned by SAGA
but kept the name afterward,
probably because of the adventures we’d go on
staying in those rooms
with the food and the forks
and the friends.
Ask Jeeves told me quite clearly
when I asked years ago
that Door Close buttons on elevators
are not effective.
They simply serve as placebos,
making the user feel like they’ve done something
to change their state of affairs.
I read it quite clearly.
It must be true
yet every time I see my mother push the Door Close button on her elevator
the door closes immediately after.
Without fail.
I have heard it said that correlation does not imply causation.
I might have even bought the bumper sticker once.
Still, that correlation seems to be at a hundred percent,
and not pushing the button leaves us sitting waiting for the door to close.
I’d ask Jeeves about that phenomenon,
were Jeeves still around to ask.
I’m not sure
if I can trust what I’m seeing,
‘cause if it’s true, then what I’m feeling’s
justified, and now I’m reeling.
Soon enough, I’ll be kneeling.
Is this real?
It sure seems amazing, here.
Is it real?
I’m beyond darkness and fear.
Is it real?
For the first time in some years
I’m seeing clear. It’s so weird.
Is it real? Is it real? Is it real?
Can I believe?
Well, I surely do hope so.
Looks can deceive,
but I really want to know
how to receive
the information that’s bestowed
so I can take all of this in and perceive.
Is this real?
Please, let it be!
Is this real?
If it is, I’ll feel so free!
Is this real?
It would be the best for me
if this were real. Is it real? Is it real?
The little ghosts swirl around me this morning
the boys and girls that I could have known
had I made this or that connection
with this or that woman
at this or that point.
Entirely fictional children
come to life
this hazy day
out of nothing but lost potential
which seems to be most of what I have.
Nathaniel likes sailboats
controlled remotely
but doesn’t like to share.
Samantha Junior is shy
even sullen
and prone to reading in the closet.
She wouldn’t go out to the park with me
even if I begged.
Jacob and Jackie, ubermensch twins,
roughhouse all over the place,
and need to be taken out all the time,
lest they break the apartment in two.
Still, the place is a shambles.
As I view the little ghosts
in all their shameless specificity,
I come to realize that they’re actually kind of shitty.
I sort of dodged bullets with them.
Better off to be alone
away from the specters
of families lost.
I go home to an afternoon movie and Coke.
Delicious and quiet.
"You wanna go for a walk? He asked.
"I could go for a walk," I said.
"Let’s go."
We walked fast. And when I say fast,
I mean fast, F-A-S-T.
Things were disappearing behind us rapidly.
I’d see them for a second and they were gone,
like, immediately.
There was whooshing in my ears
and then a pulsing sound.
Conversation diminished.
I found it harder to breathe.
I could swear I saw my nose flare.
I think there were new colors in the sky.
The sun seemed to be moving across
at a faster sort of speed.
Was the day progressing differently?
Was the sound of the city getting more… chirpy?
The walk progressed.
Newspapers floated by.
So did calendar pages.
I couldn’t get a good look at them
but I suspected weeks were passing.
Time was marching as we moved.
I suspect my thigh
was just about to bulge out of my pants.
It was weird.
"You about ready
to take it up a notch?" He asked.
"Why… haven’t we… yet?" I exhaled.
He shrugged.
We continued.
I do not remember the rest of that year.
Tough day?
Look on your face leaves you wondering
just who died?
I won’t keep you in suspense.
The historical dead of April sixth are as follows:
Igor Stravinsky
Tammy Wynette
Isaac Asimov
Mickey Rooney
Ray Charles
Merle Haggard
and Don Rickles
It wasn’t an attack on one big party.
They all met their individual ends
alone and apart from one another.
Still, quite a day to die, eh?
How are you?
Check yourself out.
You hope that you’re alright.
You look at your reflection for some confirmation
and it’s giving you something else again.
The mirror’s telling you "No."
The you you see
does not agree
with your request for confirmity.
You want to be approved by what you survey
but it seems to be going quite another way.
The mirror, quite clearly, claims, "Nay."
You’re looking bad today.
Wish there was more to do
but the mirror’s given its review.
However you may cry and hue
the foot may wear another shoe.
Your reverse looks like a dope.
The mirror blasts to you a "Nope."
Sorry. We’ve got the answer.
How are you?
Take a look at yourself.
You’re bad.
You’re sad.
It’s a tad too late to change the state;
The mirror has denigrated you.
I notice you’re not composing so much anymore.
I’m of two minds about that:
on the one hand, I’m really sad
because that brought you joy
and you were good at it
and everyone who has a creative bone
should be stretching that bone
even if that’s a mixed metaphor
that should be straightened out.
On the other hand,
you were really good,
and I sure don’t need the competition out there,
so I’m perfectly happy that you’re not out,
stealing my spotlight.
But it wouldn’t be fair
if I didn’t let you know how good you were
when you were being you
at your best,
how you shined
and how great it would be
if you shined again.
You made all our colors more vivid.
The bands you are in are many.
How did you get so many bands?
Why are there so many people who want to work with you?
Is it because you are talented? Many people are talented!
Is it because you are flexible? Many people are flexible!
Is it because you compose like a champ?
How does a champ compose, anyway?
It seems like jazz players can be in bands
at the drop of a hat,
but maybe don’t call them bands
because that’s not the tradition.
Maybe it’s the naming convention that’s different here
and that’s all that’s different.
Are you a jazzbo in another’s body?
Is that what’s going on?
Why is there so MUCH of you?
Hey! Don’t run away when I’m asking you questions!
I’m asking you questions here!
Thank you very much for the offer, Mister Devil, sir,but I don’t believe I shall take you up on it,
at least not at this time.
Your terms are very compelling,
and I should like to consider it
for another occasion,
if you don’t mind.
No, I appreciate your persistence…
you really are good at your job,
but I’m afraid I’m going to have to put my foot down
and resist your marketing push.
We can revisit this later, Beelzebub.
So, look, I’ve got another call coming in,
and – yes, I understand –
but, if you… uh huh… right.
Mmm hmm.
Got it.
We’ll talk later.
jonberger 