Monday, August 06, 2018


I live inside a box inside my head
It’s marked fragile, but no one pays it any mind
Be kind to yourself before you self-combust

Fishing off the pier with my imaginary dog Rufus Wainwright
Finishing school only made her an even more entitled, pampered bitch
Now she’s in the White House pretending she earns what she gets

There’s an electric fence around my most private of thoughts
I don’t have to hire bodyguards because no one has ever wanted anything to do with them
Poetry and pariah go hand in hand if you’re doing it right and the stripe down your back is multifaceted

Every single time she went down on me it was begrudgingly and I knew it from the way she wrinkled her nose and closed her Maid of the Mist eyes
There’s something to be said for forbidden love if it’s by the book and the book isn’t barely legal and stinking of teen spirit
I live inside a box marked insubstantial and it has to be that way otherwise nothing works and I’m left holding the bag yet again

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, August 04, 2018

Sex Ashes (For Julia Haw)

This is what I need
It’s everything and nothing
As my heartbeat veers in and out of red blooded traffic

She was a super cop or that’s what she led me to believe when she was on top and the weather outside begged to come inside like a vampire hopped up on Mad Magazines and Pasta e Fagioli
The very first time she painted in front of me she wore her best rags as both of our intentions were like craters carved from the center of the Earth or a lazy third eye waiting for redemption like a stoned and holy Bob Marley bobble head
She was so fit I only felt comfortable in my own skin when the lights were out and the radio was tuned into polka dotted music

This is where we begin with all of our nooks and crannies begging for real butter and a House of Cards that even Spacey cannot fold inside of as his stock plummets and his livelihood goes the way of another predator-dodo-bird-priest
I wonder where the appeal is in masturbating in front of an employee and why power drives these monsters into such fits of unsavory sex addiction
Does it even have to do with sex or is it really only about slapping down those who you believe are your inferior as your ego slices and dices you up into a wok of perversion and pedophilia

This poem has gone off the rails as I sneak into her studio and spy the phoenixes rise from her canvases like a murder of telephone operators hell-bent on calling out to our creator before it’s too late and the ashes of our sex get sucked up by another overzealous Elmer Gantry Dust Buster
Her portfolio like a razor to my heart took a bite out of the big apple while making damn certain her impressions first and last would never fail to steal my ravenous sight
Some people believe arts and crafts are a hobby we best get used to cozying up next to while the truly driven understand art is the only God we’ll ever actually know on a first name basis

Charles Cicirella

Sustenance (For Julia Haw)

Nakedness yet another modest means to the end of flowers and dark chocolates dipped in blood and motor oil
Stood there in her jeans knowing her perfect silhouette would draw onlookers and sketch out the beginnings of another imperfect storm
I bet watching her in front of the canvas is like watching her open a can of sardines except the fishy smell has been traded in for the rotting white noise of embittered tyranny and the pampered longing of another gilded lily newborn, swaddled in death’s grip of time blazing

The actual real artists are so very different than the dime a dozen Clydesdales that sell piss like beer and never accept the status quo for what it truly is, lost and forever stoned on heaps of lazy opioids
If you think her paintbrush is just another facsimile for a cock well then you’re clearly missing all of her most enlivened points of anti-matter because she has been beyond gender fluidity long before a Breakfast of Champions became an article of ridicule and Kilgore Trout was so much more than an anti-hero passing himself off as a hacking reminder of America the rustic and resigned
We can play word games until the salad is brown and weeping or we can pick up our crunchy croutons and go home, either way no one truly wins when the shirts have been scalped and the skins cannot remember where they parked their trophy wives

I desire to sit with Julia in a doughnut shop where the doughnuts still sweat red, white and blue equity and the coffee is sarcastic, but there are no notes of bitterness when swallowed and then later spit out simply because making a mess has always been the American way
I wish to taste all of her frozen bits and I’m not talking about Salinger’s frozen peas or The Catcher in the Rye who always intended to kill somebody when the coast was clear and the big police had had their fill of speed traps and A Raisin in the Sun hegemony
Biting off more than you can chew is always the way to go when the map’s coordinates only lead you down another blind passageway and the GPS is no longer speaking to you on account of you always spilling the beans at the most inopportune and enlightened of radicalized eras

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Possessed (For Courtney Hadwin)

Music flows from her like pure adrenaline
The natives are restless watching you conquer the hapless hoards
Rings the living bell when stepping out on stage and takes her audience hostage with grace and genuine soul

Experiencing Courtney perform reminds me that I’m very much alive and there’s still work to be done
Accomplishments come in fits and starts when you’re a whirlwind of talent and a wunderkind of epic proportions
Holding back nothing as she blazes trails poured in molten lava

Out of the mouths of babes has never proven more relevant or trustworthy as we’re taken down a road of immeasurable kindness
Trapped inside my own head and then I watched Courtney on America’s Got Talent and it sheltered me in place and kicked me back into overdrive
“We are stardust, we are golden
We are billion year old carbon
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden now more than ever”

Charles Cicirella

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

HUMDINGER! (For Danielle)

Firecracker ignited
Supreme Being
Singing telegram telekinesis
Lasting light filled imperial impressions

Woman of steel
No guff
Glorious light breeze summer evenings

I was lost
You found me in a Victorian Midnight Cafe of our own making
Take flight
Soaring multi-faceted flight pattern to the stars and beyond!

Charles Cicirella