Shifting Sands

I’m irrelevant.
The guy with the leaf blower is out back.
I don’t have any leaves to offer him and I cannot believe its fall again.

The sand is shifting beneath my bare feet.
I’ve always found sand between my toes to be such an unsettling sensation.
There’s no accounting for taste, but the way a person chooses to end their own life tells a lot about someone.

I’m going to go hide in the closet because I am petrified of what my bones might do when left to their own devices.
I know we’ve been here countless times before, but please understand I didn’t plan any of this. My writing is automatic. Like my feelings are automatic, not automated you dumb fuck.
Please forgive me my trespasses, and I promise to forgive you for when you walked in on me when I was wearing nothing but my sarcasm and a red clown nose.

The information I possess is erroneous at the best of times and completely off the reservation at the worst of times.
The code word is still Exodus so be sure to tell all of your gentile friends to make room because the chosen people are coming, and negotiating has never been one of our strong suits.
And if you think I am one of those self-hating Jews please know there is nothing I covet more than my Jewish ancestry. That does not mean I suffer fools gladly, though, nor will I put up with any of your Catholic guilt.

I’m unspecified.
The silence is deafening.
I don’t have any qualms about admitting I’ve lost my mind. I also don’t have a problem admitting that I have stopped giving a shit a long time ago.

Charles Cicirella
9/23/14