Dying To Live
(for Joni Soule)
Radically human
Non specific
Imperfectly perfect
There is a holocaust occurring in her brain
If you cut open one of her paintings it would bleed.
Some of us hang on through hollow prayer and demolished hope
Many of us prefer to stay isolated in a pine box of our own devising
When she stands before the canvas it’s as if she is constructing her
Very own shrine to invisible fairies who believe in a very real God.
It’s better that people don’t get us
It’s better people don’t stretch their brains or get back
In touch with their heart stems because paradise like this
Can not be visited too often before becoming accustomed
To this special brand of pain and suffering designed to lull
You out of unconsciousness before numbing you for good.
She is dying to live; heard it the first time I experienced
Her non-performance it was at a coffeehouse during the Victorian
Age, I was Joan of Arc to her burning stake. She lit me on fire
From the inside out and before I knew what had hit me I was
Swimming in blood and channeling more obscure ghosts.
Her painting takes her down from a pedestal
Her paintings prove Saints exist in this day and age
To make a sacrifice we must first disconnect from the
World at large, to make a difference we must learn to
Love the inner child burning inside each and everyone
Of us.
Charlie Cicirella October 28, 2006
Radically human
Non specific
Imperfectly perfect
There is a holocaust occurring in her brain
If you cut open one of her paintings it would bleed.
Some of us hang on through hollow prayer and demolished hope
Many of us prefer to stay isolated in a pine box of our own devising
When she stands before the canvas it’s as if she is constructing her
Very own shrine to invisible fairies who believe in a very real God.
It’s better that people don’t get us
It’s better people don’t stretch their brains or get back
In touch with their heart stems because paradise like this
Can not be visited too often before becoming accustomed
To this special brand of pain and suffering designed to lull
You out of unconsciousness before numbing you for good.
She is dying to live; heard it the first time I experienced
Her non-performance it was at a coffeehouse during the Victorian
Age, I was Joan of Arc to her burning stake. She lit me on fire
From the inside out and before I knew what had hit me I was
Swimming in blood and channeling more obscure ghosts.
Her painting takes her down from a pedestal
Her paintings prove Saints exist in this day and age
To make a sacrifice we must first disconnect from the
World at large, to make a difference we must learn to
Love the inner child burning inside each and everyone
Of us.
Charlie Cicirella October 28, 2006
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