Thursday, November 05, 2015

I Hear the Wind Chimes

Darin I burned my thumb lighting the pipe.
Darin I bit the inside of my cheek while watching the third Republican debate.
Darin I thought of you while eating a piece of Marie Callender's Razzleberry Pie with a couple of scoops of Breyers® Coffee Ice Cream. “Now even bolder with 100% Dark Colombian Coffee.”

Poetry is my gateway drug.
Not heroin, Christina Ricci or bath salts.
I like to snort a couple lines of blank verse and then get all cozy in front of the old white 32 inch Panasonic television watching TCM. I’ve discovered the commercials only put off the inevitable and I need all the crushing finality one lonely, overtly sensitive Jewish poet can handle. Don’t get me wrong I wouldn’t mind Christina Ricci on all fours looking back at me mouthing the words “ride me like your little pony”, but at this point I’d settle for a couple primo Quincy episodes and maybe a Cagney and Lacey to cut the testosterone levels.

I remember the time I heard my half Japanese girlfriend break wind. She was in the bathroom and even with the door closed I heard a little trumpet sound and knew somewhere an angel had just gotten their wings.
Darin I just took a swig of Coca-Cola and I would apologize for all this shameless product placement, but I’m thinking making I can get an endorsement deal and not have to wake up and make the doughnuts or bagels ever again.
I’m sure it takes all kinds of athleticism to hit a little white ball into a hole or shoot a B-ball into a hoop or take a pigskin and throw it down the field while a defensive line attempts to blitz you out of existence, but please try and understand it’s no walk in the park sitting in front of a blank screen, waiting for what seems like a miracle to come. I’ve never thought much of athletes and I believe that’s because they receive so much attention while writers and really all artists are treated if they’re lucky like second class citizens and if they’re not so lucky simply ignored because who has the time, patience or attention span to stop and read your poem or listen to your latest song or come by the gallery after work to check out your latest art installation.

Thanks for listening and for giving a shit even if you’re only pretending.
I’m going to take another hit and this time I’ll try and do a better job when it comes to crashing and burning.
Darin I know neither one of us is helpless and yet still sometimes this feeling of paralysis is too much to cope with and I find myself holding my breath a little longer than I should.

Charles Cicirella

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