Dinosaur Bees

Instant Affirmative
F.J. Bergmann

Oh, yes… this was how it happened breaks out of brightness annulled as if nobody could stop for lunch or coffee and why this couldn’t have occurred before is anybody’s guess aloud and they’ll respect you in the morning. There were clouds shambling along the blurred horizon; farewell, my lifelong dreams of genius. And so it went away, its head under one arm, leaking a stream of wet vowels, and I waved from the porch until it was out of sight, out of mind, which is where I keep most of my stuff until I need it.

Need, that’s the ticket—purple cardboard with red soy-based ink, unlike Want, which is printed in metallic silver on blue vellum, and is numbered in consecutive infinities. Must Have is embroidered on green silk ribbon and I wear it around one finger to remind me of I Know Not What; it probably went out of print but you can get it on the internet if you know where to look, and look: it’s not what you think; I had this surgically implanted—think I was born this way? Unh-unh.

Ungulates have edible flesh and voracious appetites, depending on whether they are getting what they like and whether they feel comfortable with their surroundings. It is our duty to make sure; it affects the flavor of the meat—and I can’t keep meeting you like this, and I can’t go on and off like a fluorescent bulb, with those weird flickers. I have seen several robins recently, but I haven’t seen a flicker in quite a while, or a pelican, or an egret or ibis, but that’s only to be expected. Expect nothing, but nag all the time, even if you’re not a parent.

Apparently you don’t recognize me, which will make it difficult to cash this 2-party check with no I.D. but the first party was plenty, believe me and I have a collection plate to pass around like an STD in a college town, velvet gowns in rags and all the tags showing, which you leave on if you want to return the suit after your court date’s over. Never take a date to court to watch you argue your way out of a speeding ticket; never take a date to a porn movie, even if you buy her "all the popcorn she can handle." Never take a date away from a camel: those things have germs and you won’t like the way they stare down their noses. Try taking candy away from a baby instead, and then report the mother to the authorities. You’d think they’d be able to get a lot of dates with a name like Social Services.

Devices are my passion, and my colors are rose, cream and butter—and the dead of winter, but I haven’t been able to find a purse to match that one yet. I’ve met my match, though; struck out on rough surfaces, watched things burn that were labeled INFLAMMABLE, which answers an obvious question. Now to try for UNREPEATABLE and UNKNOWABLE, or so I thought at the time. And what a time we had! All I can say is that it involved chocolate, and buttercream roses. Plus a large dictionary, which was useful, but not essential. I must have been looking somewhere else for whatever it was that I lost. All I remember is that it was important, and weighed less than a feather. It takes a thousand feathers to make a nest at compound interest, and roughly three-quarters of a million to make a bed of roses. If you like that sort of thing.

F.J. BERGMANN frequents Wisconsin and fibitz.com, claims to have an MFA from the School of the Americas, and functions (so to speak) as the poetry editor of Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, mobiusmagazine.com. Former spheres of influence include steeplechasing, illustrating a manual of zoonoses, and rural postal delivery; however, one pseudopod can now reach all the way from the bedroom to the refrigerator.

Collin Blair Grabarek ::	Speak One Way

Karen Greenbaum-Maya ::	Raksasa: The Deer-Pig

Amanda Ackerman ::	Human Time: Poem Eight, Self-Pity

Kyle Hemmings ::	Miss tHing, I Think I Love You

Tammy Ho Lai-Ming ::	How Can You Understand?

Suzanne Marie Hopcroft ::	If You Can(’t) Take the Heat, Get Out of the Sit-In
	Rocket Man

Peter Schwartz ::	Uncle Shorty

Davy Carren ::	Picture of a Postcard

Misti Rainwater-Lites ::	Primordial Pudding

F.J. Bergmann ::	Instant Affirmative

Matthew Burnside ::	YUL BRYNNER DOESN’T GIVE A MOTHERFUCK
	NO ORGASM WILL EVER MAKE ME FEEL THE WAY MORGAN FREEMAN'S VOICE SOUNDS
	TRAPPED IN GARY BUSEY'S HOUSE, ONE TEXT LEFT

Matt Robinson ::	The Oppressionist

Nick Narbutas ::	Enchanted, I’m Sure

Eleanore Leonne Bennet ::	Two photographs

Alexis Pope ::	Tired, Hungry, Dirty

Meghan Lamb ::	It’s A Party!