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


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



I’m writing 

You like it



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


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


I wanted to tell her about yesterday

But needed to find the right moment

Where’s the jingle


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


They will not give up the hunt

It’s hot in here after all


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


Scratched and bruised

For six bucks an hour

Chiseled from fucking

Where the fuck is he




The music came on

Power punk


Someone talked 

About this book

The bridge

Which was very dystopian


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 


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


Oh yes

Give to me your dark draught

Your snapping teeth


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


Ted Berglund