sancta maria mater berti bertus in aetaernam domine sesame benedictus qui venit in nomine piu berti agnus sesame et tibi redetur votum in bert state collegium bert who was it brought this being of beauty to Earth it must have been Holy Mary she's done it once before the world is full of love with this paragon on Earth all thanks to Holy Mary Mother of Bert it was 1981 I sat in front of the boob tube with my laser ray gun Batman Underoos on and I sponged when suddenly on the screen there appeared a prophet amphibious and green and thin, the Muppet's mandarin you know who I mean and Kermit said with a grin across his oblong head that the color of the world is starting to be too gray and now we begin all you gotta do is tune in and we'll show you every day can be a heliocentric day he was a little guy with a shock of black hair locked on his head a conic comic with a dry sarcastic wit he lived with Ernie in a tidy flat with real good hygiene one look at his striped pullover I knew he was the shit rattling off the numbers and the letters of the day he'd show me things I did not ever know started with the letter P and every day we'd take a magical trip to a fabulous educational environment a banana distribution center or a box factory who was it brought this being of beauty to Earth it must have been Holy Mary she's done it once before the world is full of love with this paragon on Earth all thanks to Holy Mary Mother of Bert well, we don't live on Sesame Street we live on College Avenue there's a lot less friendly giant birds living in our civilization there's drunks and freaks and crack babies and country line dancing too there's robbery and ribaldry and public urination we don't exactly live in an age of harmony but now and then we put our faith in something wholesome, just and chaste that thing is B-E-R-T, Bert!

dimming bulbs and candles cut to air are betrayed by our luminescent affection embers fade on this jungle floor we share love stays flamed by wine-sweet introspection a comic scene, his goat hair disarrayed he brays proudly as he carts off his newfound love maid but I swear this is not just another satyr she turns into swamp reeds at his feet but Pan plays sweetness cuts knifelike through the bog he shapes music from her sad defeat and Pan plays Pan in love, Pan in love he'll go no more a-rovin' two am and Pan is in love his poor goat heart's been cloven moonlight falls on the Peloponnesian plains that evolve and revolve in my own fertile brain by your eyes I know you know what I know I don't need anything but my forest and my music and you and sometimes I can lay in the flower garden and ignore the thorns and ignore my horns and enjoy the bamboo Pan in love, Pan in love his panic pipes are muted satyr sings his first true song his heart's so deeply rooted in the past it's just been wrong romance so convoluted Pan in love, goat-man in love this time time will not dilute it

she asked if she could have my heart I said I've only got one and I don't think it comes apart I need it, a man can't live with none she asked if she could have my hand I laughed and said I've only got two and anyway you know that I'm a man such a big hairy hand would look pretty stupid on you and where would you put it? but I have something I can give you I'd give you my hand and my heart and my stomach and everything in between of course I could give you flowers or candy or Hallmark cards with pictures of kittens saying I miss you but if you're set on this internal organ thing you can have my spleen do you think I'm unromantic? a man's got to do what a man's got to do and this man's got to prove his love to you I'm just being practical but you only love me when I'm eloquent or when I buy you jewelry you'd accept a coat made out of hundreds of flea-bitten rodents but you won't take a deadbeat organ from the guy who massaged your feet and did your laundry I love you all over my body that includes my heart that includes my hand that includes my spleen but I have something I can give you I'd give you my hand and my heart and my stomach and everything in between of course I could give you flowers or "Pastor of Muppets" or Hallmark cards with pictures of kittens saying I miss you but if you're set on this internal organ thing you can have my spleen sister, you can have my spleen but leave my pancreas alone and leave my colon alone but you can have my semi-colon maybe an elbow or a thumb or a nipple or three if I come apart for everyone you'll be the one who gets my spleen

I wanted to write something for the dancing girls for the dark pool halls and speakeasies they wish constituted their world and throw some light on their noir ambitions of never-ending bolero twirl it's a fedora borealis acoustic bass in the face of sorority techno-pseudo grace and a Dorseyan beat to get the swingers and flappers and steppers to pillage the place a renewal of square roots long left in Grandpa's suits in short let me paraphrase it's a fedora borealis it's a fedora, fedora borealis don your hat on your coiffure and quaff from your crystal chalice it's time to come out of your chrysalis somewhere inside I don't know which subcutaneous layer Dick Tracy sleuths inside my muscles possessing me to swing with flair and Cab sits on one shoulder whispering nonsense in my ear while the Abercrombie carbon zombies grab themselves another shitty beer now if you need a life like the other remoras jump in your Acura or your Ford Explor-a drive on down Ventura and on past Glocomorra to a little beach town reminiscent of Gomorrah shop for velour-a or sweaters angora head over the hill at the light of aurora and there you will find a great big giant plethora of guys like you lit up like a menorah with their boxes so clearly labelled Pandora a warning they all so plainly ignore-a and if you need to find us just look under our fedoras it's a fedora, fedora borealis don your hat on your coiffure and quaff from your crystal chalice it's time to come out of your chrysalis somewhere inside I don't know which subcutaneous layer Dick Tracy sleuths inside my muscles possessing me to swing with flair and Cab sits on one shoulder whispering nonsense in my ear while the Abercrombie carbon zombies grab themselves another shitty beer we don't got no trumpet we don't got no sax we don't got no Kahlua White Russians or Tan & Blacks there's no background of brass or ocean of alcohol staining our pearly white slacks but we got all we need to swing a viola, a triola and all the machismo five coffeeshop poets can bring

sunrise on the convex lens on Dr. Molly Mathus sitting slack-jawed still as the stars decline to shine just an inky blackness on the sky and on Dr. Molly Mathus when you're life's astro-dependent your stars cannot disappear trust in those stars unless they lie about their very existence truth is most often warped by truly blind resistance she saw the stars weren't there anymore no longer science's whore slave no more but Molly went to college and Molly studied hard and Molly peered through telescopes while crouched in her backyard and Molly measured proudly the canopy of the sky but when her lenses broke she had to kiss her life goodbye I said believe, Molly said she can't I said pretend, Molly was adamant Molly did not want to be an astro-hierophant hey Molly, hey Molly hey Molly, hey Molly measure sky, measure love measure truth, measure God

this pool is not deep enough for me this pool is not dark enough for me I can see all the way to the bottom I can stand there and still breathe through my nose this pool is a little too clean for me this pool has a filter too large and blinding nothing but clear water gets through chlorinated genocide of the slightest bit of flavor I want my head to go under the surface I want the lifeguards to have to get nervous I want to drown in the mystery if I then develop gills, let me be this pool is very nice to look at this pool has well-tiled walls but once you're in for your well-needed swim you can't go anywhere new this pool traps you I want to swim in the dark with no innertube I want to leap in the abyss from the highest board I want the cold water to energize me so much that I want to stay in forever I want my head to go under the surface I want the lifeguards to have to get nervous I want to drown in the mystery if I then develop gills, let me be forever

staring at the water he spoke aloud I am an engineer so tell me how I design this river still that turns this wheel that runs this mill and generates the village power which we squander as we will when I've never been in the water musing on the hearts he'd reconciled content to be the friend with a mouth of guile to pretend that I'm not moved to step in when someone handsome brute has torn his seraph's love to shreds yet I counsel irresolute for I'm just afraid of being a lover this boy couldn't do what he was told for he could see the fault in the ways of old so instead he perfected the hand-me-down attitudes and sent chagrin up the line with the family dues took no comfort in adolescence saw his peers' rebellion coalesce into conformity so he blazed a straight route and lost friends to a point both moot and mute he skipped a stone and watched it go involuntarily analyzing its parabolic path and he whispered through clenched teeth why must I always do the math? frustrated reflexes tend to answer our dilemmas for us and with a determination that made the hair on his skin stand tall and thin he jumped in

the waiter clears the dirty dishes but he can't clear my mind it's stained with specks of you erasing all you've left behind is impossible to do you left your shadow in my eye my cornea glows hot with your shape on all things seen your silhouette prevents my cardial escape what's left of you impressions are sketching a poor substitute, perhaps but ultimately the doppelganger is more satisfying I can love you when you're not tarnished by your tangibility why won't you wisp away my other dreams erode to sand become corporeal again when youth, untruth, vermouth are gone

dear diver, you up there making that perfect arc and splashing down to a depth no greater than eight feet then spiraling back to the surface amidst rumbling applause and the judges' nines and tens to you dear diver, dear diver I'm sending this latest letter scrolled up in a bubble, air-mail stamped with a sigh and blown up to your heels I plead again down here in my post office thirty feet beneath you where the shades of crystal blue have darkened through layers of cerulean azure and indigo, now faded to black you can't quite make out my figure when looking down from fluorescent lights of the natatorium into this abyss and maybe you assume that water and concrete is all that lies and lurks below and never knowing that staring into the lights I spy you down where darkness prevails for I know your silhouette so well burned in chlorine upon my eyes while watching your toes and silently breathing every ripple you receive and still I hold this breath inside my aching lungs each day you practice a hundred times you come diving break the surface molecules dance and twist and I hear waves rumble upon my office door I rush to the window and glance you swimming horizontal at the bottom of your turn arcing upwards towards freedom and oxygen out of my grasp a hundred times you play this game perfecting your moves and being immersed in water I cry not tears but air a thousand silver pebbles that rise and collect on the ceiling and when there are enough I type another letter and carefully slide it into the aggregate bubble now formed open the window and watch my affections float upwards as I am mailing you now as I am mailing you now and if this letter reaches you and if you have read this far I implore you once more to breathe all the way out for the air in your lungs will keep you from reaching the very bottom with your chest collapsed just pull your head in and let gravity take its course and upon your arrival put your arms out and reach for my hands bring your lips to mine and sealing the passage with a kiss give you my air pause for inverted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and then you can return to the surface my body's breath pulling you skyward pulling you skyward if you could fill this request just this one dive, one elongated arc I promise to stop sending these wistful pockets of air and calm the turbulent waters of your favorite pool so every future dive you make will be smooth and fluid these waters will catch you withhold their splash and then return you to the surface safe and sound so please I beg you answer this letter and come to see me just this once for I don't think that I can hold my breath forever

last night I had a dream same one I always have about the final days four horsemen fill the sky with clouds of pestilence but somehow I'm okay Ragnarachmaninov Ragnarachmaninov Sergei knew what he was doing with one touch of golden hands he could illustrate ambrosia for your ears so I face my cataclysmic fears with legato notes and chardonnay hedonism soothes the pain of the judgement day and when the sea turns into blood and when my body turns back to mud and when the sky comes crashing down and when theomachy splits the ground and when God comes for me as I am sure he will I'll say at least I knew what was good when I heard it

here's a proof that a college of communication majors we are certainly not because when that someone at a distance lines up eyes just for an instant we start to ponder on what we haven't got now you assume there exists in your circles of interest counterpart souls with which to spend your time but to break the ice and melt the hearts without receiving glares of heat and hearts broken like ice can take you lifetimes to master like refrigerator magnets yet frigid and unattractive we pass by mute and lock jawed hoping that the perfect glance will act as catalyst because else we have to dance the 'hello, etcetera' 'hello, etcetera' but once in a while that particular smile propels us to move to action so you borrow courage and luck on credit from your gut and locomote to your object of affection but with stress burning your face the truth gets replaced by a catchy catchphrase aimed to hit home a simple remark free of insight or spark and suddenly your stomach comes back up for that loan you sputter pick-up lines and then think of dozens better as your ego trips over its own lower-case letters damned to the jitterbug of one you won't two-step up to 'hello etcetera' so left there alone with a hope stripped to bone and the person you really are left completely unheard we chalk up this near-miss to timing we insist and restart the pattern same mistake with different words like refrigerator magnets yet frigid and unattractive we pass by mute and lock jawed hoping that the perfect glance will act as catalyst because else we have to dance the 'hello, etcetera' 'hello, etcetera'

I like you, you like me why pretend we're in a nunnery if frogs and pigs can make whoopee why can't we, why can't I for free that's the deepest thing I'll ever say that's okay, wit don't pay anyway just give me money and I'll be fine give me remoras to wine and dine off me I have a band, our name is Bert we own a van, our egos hurt because our songs eight minutes long are viewed as wrong by the brain-deadened throng if we ever played on the MTV they'd shorten the songs and cut the words like 'acromegaly' because teenage girls only scream over idols with less noble dreams we're mainstream! and the little girls sing I like any old type of song as long as it's not more than three minutes long as long as it's in pop chord major with no flat fifths as long as there's no seven-eight or five-four riffs as long as the lyrics don't require any thought as long as they look at me when they sing and my girlfriends think they're hot as long as it's white boys rapping or electronic noise as long as they're in their 30s but Teen Beat still calls them boys mainstream!

the moon is pared to a crescent which shines down on these convalescents serves as a source of light and an excuse for lunacy at least that's the theory proffered by a nursing staff who can't quite explain how an octogenarian demon named Walter can claim a wheelchair as his hellish domain Walter Geist, Walter Geist age can turn on you here comes Ethel wielding her rosary while Melvin cowers behind a TV guide and Thelma's feet dangle from two fresh holes in the wall the price paid for taking a ride and the wheelchair spins in a donut and Walter's voice sepulchrally intones 'have a seat, I'll drive you to the dining room but it's I who will feast on your bones' Walter Geist, Walter Geist age can turn on you there were promises of peace and rest after decades of labor and giving their best now the bingo games are ruined and the hairdresser quit and you can't even sit and have a lousy piece of pecan pie so they all wrote letters to their congressmen asking for help but when they tried to explain no one believed it, they wrote it off as products of atrophied senile brains so they took out an ad in the large-print Reader's Digest and a 100-year-old subscriber in Idaho who was an ex-martial arts trainer named Agnes grabbed her cane and yelled 'this chair's ass is toast' Walter Geist, Walter Geist age can turn on you she hopped a Greyhound and sped to the nursing home and found Walter lying prostrate on his side with the spokes of the wheels whittled down to blades about to commit centenarian-cide Agnes let out a screen like a vulture and flung herself through the air balanced on her stick she was headed for the blades and would have surely been pureed if her thinking had not been so quick she jammed her cane into the wheelchair's blade-spokes and prayed that the sturdy wood would hold it locked up the wheels and thus catapulted Walter out the window and into the cold (and this might be an opportune time to mention that the nursing home was located on the 87th floor of a skyscraper complex) Walter Geist, Walter Geist age can turn on you the wheelchair was broken and thus Walter exorcised and the patients then returned to their otherwise humdrum lives except now they all take classes in ju jitsu and kung fu taught by Agnes who stops by every afternoon at two the TV Guides were traded in for back issues of the Black Belt Times and the craft groups gave up doilies to make nunchucks, katanas and sais and everyone sleeps much better underneath the crescent moon knowing that they're safe from the wheelchair of Walter Geist