Saturday, October 21, 2017


Received the kind of news no one wants to receive.
My mother said she was in the end of days and she wasn’t kidding in the least little bit.
She told me that my sense of humor during this time was strange and all I could think was without my sense of humor I’m already gone.

Nothing can be reversed or returned at this latency stage.
You wore it down now you own it no matter the poor health you find your body in.
Tearing out patches of your flesh and pretending you’re one of the undead when nothing could be further from the diluted and distilled, bittersweet truth.

Just dropped my mother off at hospice. I told my friend Ted and he said “Oh, Charles, that's so heavy” and he’s right it is heavy. In fact it’s heavier than my own mother is at this debilitating time.
We can only do what we can do while people’s expectations of us must be left in a ditch because there’s no point in sapping all of our energies doing our darndest to make you feel better about yourselves.
Let’s just cut to the chase and forgive and forget circumstantial evidence and the end always justifying the means. Instead let’s act like humans and accept each other for exactly who we are and not for what we want or expect each other to be.

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, October 07, 2017

Deconstructed (For Ted Kane)

deconstructs from a to z
leaving nothing in between
rosary beads diddley bow

mining for a heart of gold
blood diamond cadavers
rotting in the disillusioned sun

it’s high time we stopped pussy footing around
you wanted a pussy grabber and chief
well you got it now whatcha gonna do?

deconstruction devalued in the eye of a narcissistic god killer
able bodies only get you to the grave beyond that it’s all a jump ball
i’m so down and out when looking up all I see is my proctologist in the rearview

he deconstructs because there’s nothing better to do with his hands
he deconstructs because peeling the onion with his guitar time of the assassins tool is the only effective method of pulling the band-aid from the scab
he deconstructs because all of our lives depend on it including his own

Charles Cicirella

Having a Nervous Breakdown

This is not a false alarm
It’s all happening
My brains are starting to pull apart

Too much stress
Not enough turning of the pressure valve
Common occurrence among nihilists and scourges of the Earth

Touching myself doesn’t always get the job done
I cannot get enough of young black women fucking
It’s always consensual and among consenting adults

My heart is beating out of my chest
If I had a hammer I’d be more than Pete Seeger, I’d be Pete’s Dragon
Let’s call it a day and cut our loses before the baby gets more than just cut in half

This is not a false alarm
I’ve never seen much point in alarmists
Just like extremists oftentimes their bark is far worse than their bite

Charles Cicirella

Friday, October 06, 2017

Glass Pipe (For Rick and Colleen McDonald)

Always liked her father
Because he never not once looked down on me
Even though he towered over me like The Friendly Giant or a skyscraper

Always secretly liked her
Because she takes shit from no one
And according to her father she’s a genius when it comes to music

They watched Django Unchained while I went upstairs and did my own thing because I’ve never been a fan of Quentin Tarantino except for Reservoir Dogs and Natural Born Killers
They seemed to enjoy it and we still got stoned as I ignored the overt racism and Quentin’s annoying way of belaboring the obvious while pretending he’s out of the ordinary

Never forget when Colleen jumped off that cliff. It appeared she was jumping into nothingness, but she said she’d done it before so I trusted I would see her again
I didn’t go into the deep end even though her cajoling was tempting and maybe drowning wouldn’t have been half bad
We sat on their front steps as he told me in his ‘take no prisoners’ method that he had played the game and lost

My heart will be forever broken

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, October 03, 2017

Writing her poetry always makes me feel better. (For Katie Boyd)

She turns me on and I’ve never even met her face to face
I wonder if I turn her on and if she likes my face
My consonants and vowels desire to climb inside and take up permanent residence

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves
Let’s not fall in love with the first cute office worker with a Glasgow accent we meet
Let’s not declare ourselves incompetent until our competency is tested thoroughly

Breaking beneath the pressure of her afternoon matinee smiles
Walking along the breakwater with nothing, but our wits to protect us
Katie somehow keeps me calm by doing nothing as everything comes our way

I wonder if intellect impresses her more than athletic prowess
Does she feel more comfortable left to her own devices or welcoming the occasional nudge or wink from the Eye of Horus?
Is a library or coffeehouse more to her liking or does she prefer being put through her paces in the middle of the night as her music plays and cities burn all around her?

Shutting down is oftentimes the only way to uncover the missing pieces of our autumnal minds
When I saw her standing there with nothing on but her Wheel of Fortune jammies I knew I was in for the ride of my red wheelbarrow life
She’s every season wrapped up in a magnificent hillock of “sugar and spice and all things nice.”

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Starling (For Katie Boyd)

Bright colors
Work to her advantage
Aluminum foil starlings
Intellect weaponized

Hand holding intoxicants
Flame broiled sadness
Phoenix capsized Titanic
Batten down your hatches!

Abandoned theaters
Mute stranger’s chemical imbalance
Resistant to changing partners
Entropy squirrels gnaw at our crinkly consciences

I want to go the distance
I swear to God I do
“I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry”
I think I’m telling the truth or maybe I’m not. I don’t fucking know.

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Pick Your Poison (For Mark Gunderson)

Cat Stevens running through my head
Music made before he was an extremist
Or maybe he was always an extremist
I don’t fucking know

Going to eat some banana pudding
Cannot stomach chocolate pudding
Ever since it was brought to my attention that Bill Cosby is a serial rapist
I say is because sexual predators never change their roofie spots

I’ve known Mark for so long it’s like he’s always been there and maybe he was
Never forget the Comfest when I started to scream “White Jeep” and Lyceum 23 came running into the tent like an exorcism was taking hold and maybe it was
I believe that was my last stab at fame because not long after I settled for infamy because the press junkets were more fun and groupies don’t expect as much from you
Kimmie told me “White Jeep” was played on a radio station in Czechoslovakia and that made me feel good for about eight or nine minutes

Pick your poison go ahead I’ll wait
My latest poison was a young woman who it turned out really couldn’t stand me even though she did a very good job playing pretend and making me feel almost human again
Turned out to be just another graphic novel I never should have checked out
Never forget when we sat in the kiddy section of that library in Middleburg Heights and you had me questioning my very existence as you sat there stone face like an Easter Island statue and I begged you to reconsider

“The First Cut Is The Deepest” is the Cat song playing in an endless loop in my head
I wonder if he still does that one with his freak fag flying in the wind and his beard not slowing him down in the least little bit
It’s probably unfair to call him an extremist and I’m not sure if zealot is any closer to the Buried Child truth
When I looked down and saw it was Mark Gunderson calling I felt like it was the Pope on the line and if I didn’t answer quickly absolution would forever be out of reach

Charles Cicirella

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Don’t Step Outside the Bounds of Reality (For Roky Erickson)

He just wanted his ham sandwich
Nothing is ever written in stone
Not even the Ten Commandments

The Bible will not save you
Look how, in the sequel, it treated Christ
Jews continue to get a raw deal

There is no master race
Though what’s so ironic
Is how those who spew that toxic garbage are the most ignorant animals on the planet

No one concentrated in the Concentration Camps
People just waited around to die
One more example of how might never makes right especially when you’re dead wrong on every single issue

I’m not convinced the Summer of Love was about anything other than getting high
Step outside the bounds of reality and you’re lucky if you don’t get punched in the face
Break through the Doors of Perception and be prepared to be rewarded with more riches than you could ever imagine

Charles Cicirella