blather

Shall I cradle this nearly sleeping child in my supposedly humane arms? How can we judge this or that injustice so callously? Am I a monster or a saint and does it matter in the living and or dying end? I met St. Peter at a “meeting” he kept playing hard to get. You are never supposed to ask if He was hot or cold to the touch. Suppose to play it all cool when one of the disciples graces your presence with their nonchalant grace. Shall I go out on Highway 61 and find another nearly sacrificed child to call my very own? I’m not joshing I’ve got a loaded gun and I’m not afraid to use it. I’m not kidding I have a mouth filled with biting remarks and a sardonic sense of dispossessed humor I’m willing to spill onto you like the newest hippest rot. Shall we cradle this unkempt civilization in our bored bosom and pray for sunny skies or should we just call it quits right now? Shall I tell you I love you for the millionth time and hope that you still find some truth in it?

Charles Cicirella