By: Alan Berger

Photo by Daniel Mingook Kim 

What stories to choose
Which ones to tell
They choose you
And tell you what to sell
I’d rather be a year too early
Then a second too late
Rather not be out with someone
That I just can’t take
Rather stay home and masturbate
And I know it’s lonely out there
But it can’t compare
To the loneliness in here

So what do I do
What do I give and take
Just grab it all
See what comes out in the shake
Like a garden
Begging for a rake

So am I walking the streets
Or are they walking me
Who gives a fuck
If the lights are all green

What friends to keep
Which ones to send to Hell
I wish I was a dog at times
And just go by smell
Or maybe a bird in Heaven
Waiting for the dinner bell

So on it goes
And what was, wasn’t
And what was once nothing
Now becomes so pleasant

What have I lost
What have I got
Whenever I ask
I receive not
All I have met
All have predicted
Wherever I wander
Will wind up restricted

So sometimes it’s clear
And sometimes it’s muddled
What was once a steam of thought
Has become a puddle

Categories: Poetry

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