Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Jailbreak #999

This poem was trying to force itself inside of me.
It was the middle of the night. I was watching myself sleep and then all of a sudden I felt the consonants and vowels attempting to conquer me like some Trojan horse or Norse Invader.
There’s no way to prepare yourself for such an onslaught and before I knew it the gameshow Wheel of Fortune was having its way in my large intestine. Vanna just kept turning the letters like she did in the old days. Pat Sajak was his same goofy self.

She lived over Garcia’s Mexican Restaurant. I’ll never forget how incredible their chiles rellenos were before they got in trouble for tax evasion and child labor.
When I finally got to feast my eyes on her Midwestern breasts all I could think was it was well worth the wait. That is until she told me she had herpes and we had to stop.
I never seem to catch a break and perhaps I bring that on myself, but either way masturbation only gets you so far before you need contact with another human being.

This same poem later tried to turn the tables and say I took advantage of it which seemed rather unlikely seeing how my mouth was duct taped shut and my arms were pinned to my sides like wooden wings afraid to take flight.
This poem just another schoolyard bully as I now question why I created it; as I’m sure God often questions why he created the Christians, or Muslims or even the Jews when he’s had a truly awful day and kicking the can down Main Street is doing no one much good.

This poem needs a fourth verse, but I’m at a loss where it should be heading and I’m thinking Lincoln County Road is as good a place as any.
I’d ask you where we’re headin’, but what’s the point when I’ve recently discovered I cannot trust you and going it completely alone is the only way I may actually be able to find shelter from the storm.
The first time I ever set eyes on you it was amid a tsunami of words and unkempt layers of freshly laundered money. You had cocaine on your nipples and a spring in your step that kept me coming back for more. I’ll never forget when you finally had had enough and stood up to your oppressors. I wish I could learn from your example, but sadly I’m just another Hebrew poet wearing the skin of a cowardly lion.

Charles Cicirella

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