She
slices directly into my soul
The
turpentine fumes could have killed us and I wouldn’t have cared
Dying
next to her would have been a fucking privilege I swear to God
Her
voice sings out for the genocide of the Native Americans
Crazy
Horse-spirits and Vincent-ghosts swirl around her sleeping fairy body
You
want divinity well then give her a chance and she will deliver tenfold
Everything
comes down to the imprecise cuts of a blunt pair of dressmaking shears
That’s
life for you saved up for retirement then get cancer and die alone and
miserable
Her
paint strokes are roars of unbridled otherness and her empathy beats your
apathy every single time
She
taught me that the teachers are the children not the adults in the windowless
room
She
brought me to a jumping off place I best get used to before vertigo sets in
She
showed me her birthday suit and I showed her my Daisy Red Ryder BB Gun
Don’t
forget to stop pretending when you’re finally escorted through the Pearly Gates
Don’t
forget to forgive yourself once the priest has finished tampering with your
childproof cap
Don’t
forget to start living before it’s too late and the stores have all closed and
the trains have all stopped running and hitchhiking to the Temple Mount is no
longer a viable alternative
Charles Cicirella
3/11/16
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