jonberger

A leaf blows around and around the town
stopping and resting
here and there
but never for long
as it explores the environs
of its urban home.

You’d think this flora
would fare less well
in this metropolitan landscape
but it’s really gone to town
going round and around
and around and around
and around and around and around!

The little leaf leaves people alone
though it’s lovely enough,
it could be pressed into any book.
It’s worthy, certainly, of anyone’s second look
but it flies so far, it doesn’t last long enough
to be seen.
It’s clean across the borough, quick as a blink!

The lovely leaf looms large in imagination,
laboring along, going where it goes,
nobody knowing its path, travelling hither and yon,
landing nowhere, everywhere,
having no destiny that anyone will ever discover.

The leaf lives on in the landscape, alone.

and in the end, the rock you make
will break and roll out of control
into the new that you will never see.

It’ll be some mystery beyond what we
can imagine. It’ll be sexy. It’ll be sweet.
It won’t meet our expectations.
It will confound them.

It will be beyond time
and we won’t understand it.

Same as the old boss.

When things are getting tough and I experience regret
and I worry that I suffer from a taxing world’s debt;
that we’ve so frigging far off course there’s nothing left to do
but to suffer all the consequence and drink some poison brew.

That’s when I find it’s time to decide to take your stand.
To straight up to your full height like a proud woman
which is when I look to the raging storm’s eye
and hiss: "There is too much to do today to die."

So I walk away from danger and I turn my back on fear
and I go about my business while I exit from the rear.
So I finish up my taxes and I do the laundry, too.
There’s about a million things to do.

Though some demons might be wondering why I’m worried not at all,
I know that their concerns will still be there at morning’s call.
While the pressing things need doing more instantaneously
Tomorrow, I’ll pay the devil’s fee.

For problems were here yesterday and will be here next week
and if you look for troubles, there are many more to seek.
The future comes in hours, I won’t worry about it yet.
When the devil’s due, then I’ll fret.

We are not the same.
Your name is Samantha
a post-op femizon
who believes that meat is murder
– in a bad way.

I’m Jon.
I like fluffernutter sandwiches
and the Hulk.

You’ve been to every BLM event,
want to safeguard Palestineans but remove Hamas
and ensure female body autonomy.

I think all of that sounds nice
but really wonders
what’s coming out next from the Prince vault
and if that remake of Babylon Five is ever gonna happen.

You know what’s important.
I think I need a nap.
We are not the same.

Another storyteller would have gone a different way
with the tale of rising
on Easter day:

When the monster Jesus came out of the dark
he sought vengeance on all who had caused him pain.
There was an empire and a kingdom too
upon which to aim his wrath
as well as the man who identified him.
He had much to set right.

The son shambled off to destroy his enemies.

What follows would be a tale of destruction
that Wes Craven would love to portray
should he wish to rise from his own grave
to do so
but that would require
its own miraculous act.

I admit nothing
but
if I did it
it had to be done
and
it was worth doing
and
we’re all probably better off now
if whatever it is ever even happened,
I don’t know, anyway!

Look, you don’t know the specifics
and I don’t know the specifics
but if you look at them for a minute,
don’t they really look like they deserve
some shit to happen to them,
like maybe they’ve got some secrets to hide, maybe?
Don’t you think?

This is just supposition,
but just say,
if it really went down the way they claim,
maybe they had something to do with it,
perhaps perhaps perhaps?
Maybe a dark alley was walked down,
because a deal was on?

In any case,
I had nothing to do with anything.
I was nowhere near the scene.
I don’t know a thing
and I’d thank you not to bring this up again.

The gods sometimes look down with advice for mortals
but their forms of advice may be subtle or devious
and can be misinterpreted as bad luck
or catastrophe.

Here’s an example: a recent bombing in Pakistan
was probably just a suggestion from Thanatos
to slow down, take a break, and die.

Aquilo, the winter storm, might freeze out
a family or five as a tip to get better heat for next year.
Or you might get word from Tammuz
on strategies to yield better crops
through horrifying blight and famine.

Dreadful consequences can follow hearing from the gods
or being noticed
or simply being thought of by them.
It is best to avoid any of those options
if possible.

Once, before I was the artist you experience before you now,
I wrote a piece called "I’m Not a Bagel."
It was a musical parody of Lenny Molotov’s "I’m not a Waitress,"
which lists a series of identity crises
in 1990s hipster New York, beginning with, "I’m not a waitress;
I’m an actress."

My piece began with "I’m not a bagel; I’m a donut,"
and followed a similar line,
ending with ideas like "I’m not a hot dog; I’m filet mignon, baby!"
or "I’m not not Pawtucket; I’m the fucking universe!"

It was for a covers night at my favorite club
and I don’t think Lenny ever heard it.
I don’t think Lenny’s ever gonna see reference to this, either.

I can’t find the script to that old parody,
and it wouldn’t work without someone playing the music,
which Estelle did, back over twenty five years ago.

Arthur played the "Subterranean Homesick" signs.

It was a good show.

I’m still not a bagel
but I don’t think I’m a donut, either.

I’m something far holier.

No one suspected when the Danish were placed
on street corners across the city.

They were just left there one day
and the locals just assumed they were part of the scenery.

Quickly, though, these tall and imposing folk
would begin to move about from their positions
as if they belonged
and in their roaming
they would pillage and conquer
as their forebears would.

Soon enough the city was rampant with Danish

everywhere bustling through the town
conquering and killing
doing what they wilt
destroying and taking things off to boats,
just rip-roaringly rousting the whole place.

It was a real big deal.

The main thing you could heard out of any of them
was a growing, "We’re not Danish;
we’re Danes!"
which seems easy enough to remember
but nowhere near as much fun.

There is a helplessness you feel
when the world will not follow
your perfect plans to the letter.

It is a frustration so sublime
since you know the mountains you could move
if they would just shut their mouths and brains off
and follow your instructions!

I met these guys: Andrews Smith and Brown
and I told them they would make the perfect rhythm section
for an alt-rock group.
They could call themselves The Andes!
I didn’t care which of them should play drums
or bass
– and neither did they,
since they weren’t musically inclined.

They didn’t think much of my advice
and shrugged off my suggestions.
They didn’t care for me leading the band
– especially when I mentioned I had no musical experience either.
Their lack of faith was disappointing,
to say the least.
Why couldn’t The Andes take this leap of faith with me?

I got a similar reaction when I suggested
that lame chick just try to will herself to walk.
The power of positive thinking, right?
No go. She wouldn’t even give it a try!
What could it have hurt?

Nobody’s willing to even presume
I might know what I’m talking about.
Like, the other day,
some flat earthers were trying to coerce me to their creed
and I was trying to explain that of course the earth wasn’t flat;
it was cubed.
They would have none of it.

It’s dispiriting,
is what it is.