Spew

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-05-30T16_21_06-07_00

I

Thought

I

Would

Spew

Back

At

You

Even

Though

You

Stopped

Listening

Because

I

Guess

That

Is

Easier

Than

Hearing

An

Opinion

Different

Than

Your

Own

You

Talk

About

How

I

Was

Degrading

Your

Character

When

In

Reality

The

Only

Character

Assassination

Happening

Was

To

My

Character

As

You

Ran

Me

Through

The

Perpetual

Ringer

And

Made

Me

Feel

Worse

Than

I

Already

Did

I

Know

You

Are

Still

Not

Pleased

With

How

I

Acted

When

We

Dated

But

Enough

Is

Enough

As

You

Give

Everyone

The

Benefit

Of

The

Doubt

But

Me

As

I

Lie

Here

Like

Some

Gutted

Fish

Waiting

To

Be

Either

Wrapped

In

Newspaper

Or

Consumed

By

A

Murder

Or

Crows

Friends

Should

Be

Able

To

Have

Differing

Opinions

Without

One

Friend

Acting

Like

We

Are

Back

In

Grade

School

And

I

Checked

The

Wrong

Box

And

You

Decided

It

Was

Easier

To

Unfriend

Me

And

Pretend

I

No

Longer

Existed

Because

My

Character

Flaws

Became

More

Than

You

Could

Conceivably

Handle

I

Am

Spewing

Because

I

Cannot

Stop

Thinking

About

Your

Poisonous

Confections

And

How

Irresistible

You

Are

When

Creating

Your

Next

Book

Of

Spells

Curses

And

Incantations

I

Meant

It

When

I

Said

My

Love

Was

Unconditional

No

Matter

The

Fair

Weather

You

Continue

To

Attempt

Shoving

Down

My

Gullet

Like

A

Fistful

Of

Half

Dollars

Or

Baby

Doll

Heads

Charles Cicirella 5/29/16

The hits just keep coming (For D.B.)

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-05-26T14_55_45-07_00

I’m not going to say his name

This isn’t Harry Potter

Still I refuse to spill the beans

You want hard luck

Read some John Fante

I was never all that impressed, but that hardly means anything because I’m pretty damn sure Bukowski was onto something when he waxed poetic about this relic of dust and brick

It doesn’t matter

I’ll take more allergy medicine

And I will feel better for another eight hours

The hits just keep coming

Think of me as an abused poet who needs to go to a poet shelter and beat this addiction to words and the silence quaking between the consonants and vowels

Vanya White and Pat Sajak will come and give some life affirming presentation about how they have no problem being just another sellout on the puzzle board of life

Let’s not bother with names

Or professions

Or why we find ourselves wishing we were better gamblers and didn’t believe so resolutely in doing our abandoned and forsaken work

I was a “King Bee” before I gave up the sweet taste of honey for more mundane and less inspired tasks

Now I play at a Holiday Inn in my mind on the weekends and keep things interesting by playing Russian roulette like Johnny Ace did before one auspicious bullet slowed him down for ever after

And never forget I loved you when you were nothing and will continue to love you when you’re trace energy because there is nothing like the supernatural to keep one guessing and on their toes

Charles Cicirella

5/25/16

The Music inside My Head Wants to Come Out and Play

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-05-25T02_50_40-07_00

Did you ever have one of those days when nothing went right?

It’s as if there is a Greek chorus rolling around your brain.

And it’s not funny, and it’s not healthy as your well-being leaves you in the lurch.

She was covered in somebody else’s blood, but she assured me she hadn’t hurt anyone.

I didn’t know what to think because we didn’t have a mop or even enough paper towels to soak up all of this red paint.

She called me her anti Boy Scout because I never seem prepared to handle anything as I fell to pieces and wished I was by myself listening to Patsy Cline or Jim Reeves.

Did you ever have one of those days when the music inside your head begged you to let it out so it could play like all the other kids?

Sometimes we cry for no reason while other times we know exactly why our eyes are welling up with the tears of the misdiagnosed and misaligned.

And it’s hardly funny when nothing makes sense and all you feel like doing is crawling back inside your hermit crab shell and calling it a day and a night as a symphony of hurt washes over you like blades of prickly, uncut grass.

Charles Cicirella

5/25/16