Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Gaunt (For Mikal)


Restless embers
Burnt to a crisp
Underground passages
Transcontinental railroad

Millennials talk shit
Tethered to their smartass phones
Activate your personalities
Drop and give me forty winks

Gaunt writer
Tilting at stained glass windows
A repository of fact and Shot in the Heart non-fiction
Carves musical explorations from coffee grounds and midnight oil

We stand at the gates like barbarians or James Garner private dicks
His interview style is on a need to know basis
Brandishing the skill of a surgeon wielding his pen like a scalpel or unicorn horn
He’s stood in the flames of deliverance and damnation longer than even he can recall

Charles Cicirella

Friday, October 12, 2018

“You're giving me cheesy grins.”


Just ate a doughnut
Raspberry jelly covered my fingers
It was an Immaculate Conception sugar high

No reason to resist
Either you’re on top or pulled beneath the non-fiction waves
The way she read Russian literature out-loud passionately turned the key in my coil-on-plug ignition system

Art was never a mere past-time I could pick up and put down like collecting stamps or shrunken heads
It not only defines who I am as a person, but it keeps a light on so when I get lost I can always find my way back home
Katie Boyd is the only Road Atlas needed when I desire to break new ground and lasso the moon

The doughnut sits on my stomach like a space invader who is tired of probing and wants to instead make friends with their next hapless victim
I love how Spielberg paid homage to Truffaut by hiring him for Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Jules and Jim would have been thrilled to know their creator was still working after all those years

Flirting with this Scottish lass is as close as I’ll ever get to true providence
Kat understands the writing as a calling and not some objective torture test lessening no one’s load by piling on the hyperbole and vectors of transmogrified speech
I write what my fingers feel as my daydreams peel off their lemonade clothes and take a dip in pools of saltpeter
I ordered room service and when my room arrived I knew it was too small to change my mind

Let’s stop pretending any one of us is going to get out of here alive
Morrison knew full well what Rimbaud had proven centuries before that being a word-man was just as limiting as being a bird-man and running guns gets you no further out of the rat race
I may eat another doughnut or I may just curl up into a ball and allow the fetal position to take hold as embryonic fluid fills my ears and my mother comes for a short visit

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, October 11, 2018



Gonna write another poem for you
Because I can and I like how you beam
When the words are received like an
Otherworldly telegram from on high

We trespass only when we believe
No one is watching and the delivery
Is late and our appetites demand our
Attention and a focus on self-preservation

Let’s change our habits. I’d even change
My tee-shirt if I believed it would make any
Sizable difference and you weren’t so modest
And full of sugar and spice and everything nice

Imagined walking through the park, holding hands
And looking up at the dead and gleeful stars
It made some kind of altruistic sense like the very
First time I spied you naked and you just laughed

Went to a therapist last night, first time in nearly
Two decades that I attempted asking for help
All I got in return was Words with Friends and
A clueless professional’s two unshiny cents

This is where we start with mail addressed to
Occupant and blank stares from a den of
Wolves or untested Girl Scouts and I’m on
Fire from the silences you deliver so effortlessly

Charles Cicirella

Connected (For Kat)


I’m dying
I will make a wish and blow out the candles
Before I close my eyes for the final time

Some things make all the sense in this world
While most are incomparable and inoperable
From space we have no reason to complain

Katie breathes life into these old bones
Introduces new colors to my greying outlook
Offers a swirl when vanilla loses its potency

She’s alive
Made the choice to always operate on the up and up
After she closes her eyes I will kiss her lips with my mind

Oftentimes the saddest refrain garners all the attention
Still, we must be willing to change our backstories on a whim
No one is infallible and this is especially true during the end stages

I was connected to a star and it twinkled like a civilization in need of bedrest
You broke all the rules because chaos is the only order you’ve ever understood
We must accept the diagnosis before we can again take a chance on love

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

More Blood


Cutting through the malaise with a machete
Dylan vanquishes fear by opening the door to hope
Here’s the process laid out like a Sears Roebuck catalog or map to the stars

Lays the paint on thick like Vincent
There’s no room for pie, not when there’s all this introspection to digest
I’m stunned and then stunned some more as I listen and am catapulted through the trees and the golden spikes dripping with more blood

Stands in front of the canvas or sits down at the piano
Shapes iron into gates of graceful wonder
And does it without asking anyone for a single, solitary thing

His blood symphonies cover me with goosebumps as my heart becomes a shadow of its former self and the winds of idiocy remind us he’s just a man doing the best that he can
Star artist-astronaut-roving gambler
He exists between the silences and keeps on keepin’ on because what other choice does he have?

Charles Cicirella