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IAP 02 ~ Ted Berglund

Important artist Ted Berglund says “here is my work, it is about visceral thought”
— Ted Berglund





Time slowed as the train sped forward




Open doors




These are pretty good these pictures




Dad




We were in Naples




I met this baby cat




And introduced him to Leo




This picture looks like I have curls




I wanna have curls




Why don’t you have curls dad




Zeit auszusteigen





Zurückbleiben bitte





Jack threw away his tissue





With aplomb





We’re basically MJ





High five





I light a cigarette





And we walk





Too bad Lukas isn’t here





We’d be a fully formed tricycle





Wanna go to Venus with me dad





Yeah





Hmmmph





I’m writing 





You like it





Yeah





Good






Are you able to poke holes into leaves






Jack stabbed at the leaves






Step on a crack






Break you’re mothers back






Where are we going






Jack did good leaf stabbing 






As I walked ahead






Ach!






Got hit with an umbrella yesterday






A pink one






It didn’t expand






Just shot out






We pushed through the door






Then closed it






We sat at the bar






And listened to Rasp rasp raspy






I thought about getting up






To give Dana a hug






But she was busy with pronunciations 






She missed my GOD hat






It didn’t look like the bartender 






Had what we wanted






She asked me if I’d marry her






Twice






I wanted to tell her about yesterday






But needed to find the right moment






Where’s the jingle






4:20






Time to take selfies with my son






And draw joints on our faces






For Her







The bartender aired out the trash bags 







And continued to order the bar







Whuh whuh







Whaa whaa whaa whaa whaa







Huh huh huh huh







He he he he









We drank shrub








A prohibition favorite








With cucumber








Vinegar and ginger








Cheers jack








The show started








And Dana talked about Auden 








And the Oxford Group








The bartender wrung his hands








And washed two glasses








A carnivorous carnal crusade








No








They will not give up the hunt








It’s hot in here after all








Steamy








He belongs to them after all








Loves them 








Needs them








Every last raunchy








Glitter drenched








One of them 








Hope will absolve the heat








Jack sent me balloons 








The panties masticated








The pink to purple








The ice sat suspended 








In glass








Held up by a long silver stem








Melting and cooling the glass








Condensation








Scratched and bruised








For six bucks an hour








Chiseled from fucking








Where the fuck is he








V








V








V








The music came on








Power punk








Maybe








Someone talked 








About this book








The bridge








Which was very dystopian








Also








The bartender 








Walked in badelatchen








His pants pulled up 








To the bottom of his calves 








His socks a ringed turquoise 








And navy








He talked to Dana 








Who was behind the booth








And gesticulated 








Wildly








Down by the river








I heard a lover sing








You cannot conquer time








Time watches from the shadow








And coughs when you might kiss








Stare stare into the basin








And wonder what you missed








Life remains a blessing








Although you cannot bless








Rasp is the real deal








I light a cigarette 








And watch Jack








Swing white and red balls 








In circles 








At squares and rectangles








Falling down his phone








Dana read with purpose








Pushed her words out








Impulses etched in the ether








Long draughts








The drunkard takes








Fearing each will be his last








The need of escape








I’ve been missing you 








Before you’re gone








It is still too far away








Yes








Oh yes








Give to me your dark draught








Your snapping teeth








Naked








Drowning beside me








In our sleep 








I’m a galaxy








Your a galaxy








Everywhere are galaxies








And everywhere is everything








We’re four hundred years old








I’m eleven feet tall 








Gimme that cigarette Jack








The world has no beginning or end








A thorn larger than a thigh








What a shame 








Jack can feel himself getting smarter








Giving up the life of planets and stars 








While the rest must sit in reality rooms








And pray








Hoping none of our seekers








Have stumbled








I sat before the bottles








The glittering glass








Colored labels








And promises bright








They didn’t call








I looked at each and every one 








And drank in their promises








Greens reds yellows blues








Typographies of pleasures 








I sit and stare 








And hear nothing








She is trying to prove the unprovable 








The bartender polished glasses 








In the converted stable








The bartender polished glasses 








Swift deft and professional








In the converted stable








And listened to poetry








The bartender polished glasses








As I thought about what to say to you








If I should tell you








Or wait








The bartender polished glasses








As I imagined your tension rising








And wondered if you’d prod me to explain myself








He wrung his hands








And stretched his back








He left the bar








I woke up








From sleeping with my eyes open









22.9.18



tedberglund29@gmail.com
Ted Berglund