And there are no words.
Except for these words and these words are not proving to be of much comfort.
I’m not a carpenter. I am
just a person. A person who is feeling equal amounts shame and disgust for
whatever it is they’re unbecoming. Its Kafkaesque this metamorphosis from
person to bug to something I cannot even recognize or reconcile lying next to
any longer.
You were brilliant and you
were going to save me. Until I realized I needed to do my own saving and
Lifesavers are only worth sucking when they’re cherry flavored or maybe coconut
if you’re in that kind of mood.
Do you remember Hubba
Bubba Bubble Gum? I still can recall the Friendly Drugstore on Mayfield Road in
South Euclid. This was before CVS and Walgreens bled the life out of what a
family drugstore actually was. A place you felt comfortable going to when you
needed a quick pick me up and to see a familiar face.
I miss Powerhouse candy
bars. I miss asking you what time it is and you giving me some made up answer
because you always knew I could care less what time it really was.
I’m feeling like complete
crap. I am tired of being called out on the carpet for dreams that have turned
into dried flowers pressed in a book like the Bible but far less bloody or
compelling.
One word will hopefully
lead to the next and then to the next and before you know it you’ve crossed a bridge
and a poem is nearly completed.
I’m not a patriot. I am
just a person who would go live in another country if I had the money and the
wherewithal to pick myself up and get the heck out of Dodge. America the
Beautiful keeps going on and on about its special brand of exceptionalism when
all I see are a bunch of translucent hipsters cozying up to whatever is
convenient at that particular moment as mediocrity rains down upon them like
Froyo and fifty shades of vomit.
Charles Cicirella
2/16/15
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