I
can’t keep up and that’s just fine with me.
No
one is listening and that is also for the most part fine with me.
I
am believing more and more being an artist and not just playing one on the
television in your mind means that you are alone for most of your life and when
you expire maybe you’re work will be remembered or maybe it won’t.
We
all gamble with our immortality because like it or not that’s what we signed up
for when St. Peter handed us a quill pen and we put our names in the book of
life for good and for bad and for the chance at beating the casino and making a
boatload of cash.
Self-flagellation
like masturbation will only get you so far before you have to put down the whip
or whatever your toy of choice is and find some other pleasure outside of the
body politic.
I
cannot wait till the truth is revealed though I suspect most if not all of us
will be watching another channel and will miss God’s explanation of why he
started all of this in the first place.
I
need to shield my eyes from the disproportionate sun and find a cave to take
refuge in for a century or two.
I
would have signed the Declaration of Independence if asked, but they were not
interested in what I had to say so I went about my business and turned my back
on the founding of our country.
I
don’t believe I missed much and I did read the cliff notes so I think I’m up to
speed and I really am glad we finally got around to freeing the slaves and
giving women the vote.
Everything
is happening so quickly sometimes my fingers beg a short break as I push them
ever harder into the unchartered waters of another poetic killing spree.
Guns
do kill people and even if that’s up for debate we cannot make people illegal,
at least not yet, so let’s finally do something about gun safety and stop
allowing the NRA to coopt our consciences and bury our good judgement in spools
of bloody red tape.
This
is the eighteenth poem and I am glad this poetry disc is finished until I start
the next one and the next one after that.
Charles Cicirella
1/7/17
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