Stephanie Berger

 

 

Everything is moving, breathing, seething, and I, the robot mop, alone in the kitchen

Never say you're sorry, I say, never, twist the grasses or the potted plant, the automatic glasses cleaner, never twist it.

Never shake the walls, or shake the baby, maybe shake the juice, the juicer only, twist the metals from the seed, but never, never shake the problems from the problem tree.

Scrub the dinner, scrub the baby, never scrub the sorry, chimney, shake the cell phone, never empty out the jewelry with the ash-brush of its jewels, or maybe, when the moon explodes, scoop the tiny rubies up and filter through the suitcase, empty all the automatic phones.

Call the concrete, pull the concrete, speak the concrete, from the sidewalks, from the apples, from the golden retriever's eyes, never speak the golden, pull the problems, never, scoop the golden from the icebox, lock the problems, never scrub the keys.

 

 

Conversation: Pawn's Eye View

Try to remember from the beginning.
What do you think that is on top of the night?
A typewriter crawling away.
Every feature in the cinema.
I'm interested in purchasing your vanity.
For my own twisted purposes.
Like a barter?
Does it come with drawers built in?
Steeped in pun.
Those smile lines are quite becoming.
The bobby pins fixing my lips back.
I'm sick of those bulimics and their optimism.
I wear long, dangling earrings in spite of the fact.
I'm always getting slapped in the eye on street corners.
No penny in this city is lucky.
You can call a success a sputtering thing.
But what would I be?
You can call an apple anything you'd like.
Except for Japan.
A black man, white woman, or a baboon.
The latter seems appealing.
Who needs politics?
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.
Calling out to you.
I love that confectionary body you made.
You should see the body out of meat.
Like a skeleton?
Who's windchime is that?
Duchamp's geometry book blowing in the wind.
I'm always getting slapped in the eye on street corners.
I believe the pages are a little loose.
That's your opinion. 
Too many refined women here tonight.
Too many balls in the game.
That's your opinion.
Which one?
What do you think that is on top of the knight?
Why don't you rub those balls all over my heart?
But what would I be?
Every face you saw today.
Steeped in pun.
In purple Pashmina scarf and blazer.
Leroy, the Chinatown fish market cop.
With a passion for fish.
The latter seems appealing.
I was a psychic child.
Megaphone between my thighs.
Calling out to you.
You will love someone.
With a passion for fish.
You will meet someone.
Which one?
I like girls like that.
For my own twisted purposes.
Like a fleshy machine descending a staircase.
Steeped in allusion.
A typewriter crawling away.
The ladder seems appealing.
I believe the pages are a little loose.
Like a skeleton?
I like girls like that.
Steeped in illusion.
Peek over foot ache for love making wild slit baby.
Nothing like what it once was when you meant it.
Except for Japan.
More mistakes than I can count.
Try to remember from the beginning.
Every face you saw today.
Every feature in the cinema.