And
it appears before us like a shimmering light
And
it devours our insatiable hunger
And
it shuts us down when no amount of political correctness will clear away all
this wretched debris from a thousand or more years of doing only what’s
convenient
And
this was the first God we killed, but it won’t be our last
And
the devil is in the details when the proof in the pudding has gone to pot
And
I resisted you for as long as I possibly could then I accepted a minimum wage job
and went the way of cowards, thieves and tax collectors
And
you wanted it all
And
you would not settle even when settling was your best possible move
And
this is our bounty no matter how shabby and worn out the pieces are
And
our eyes capture only darkness if our souls are on the blink
And
do you recall when we were kindling and the ovens whispered our sacred names
And
I call shotgun because riding with you into the sunset is all I’ve ever wanted
when my back was up against the wall and the corner I’ve painted myself into
cries uncle
And
it appears before us like a divining rod or bowl of split pea soup
And
they stole Andy’s canned art, but they’ll never steal his impish sense of humor
or the way he fucked fame sideways because he didn’t believe in taking a day
off
And
we’ll lose ourselves if we’re not careful and muck around too long on the
indignity of death and the raising of the last beatnik
Charles Cicirella
4/13/16
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