Friday, January 06, 2017

Twelfth Poem (Strange Bedfellows)

I know you’re always there even though we hardly know each other.
I can feel your hands around my throat caressing me with a loving chokehold.
There are lines drawn and lines crossed as caution is tossed into the Dutch windmill wind.

Some hearts break more easily than others.
My heart is on a constant mend because I tend to take everything personally and believe the persecution complex was created solely for me to covet like a neighbor’s wife who has leprosy.
Time to take two allergy tablets and wash it down with some club soda praying this nausea will soon cease and I’ll be able to again stand on my own two legs.

I jump from stanza to stanza like a cricket suffering from Parkinson’s.
I often wonder why Pinocchio really wanted to be a real boy and if perhaps he didn’t have a hidden agenda like so many wooden puppets seem to have these days.
Now I’m wondering who’s pulling my strings and if they’re in a union and being paid a fair wage.

I understand your time is precious and that whatever it is transpiring between us may very well be short lived like The Arsenio Hall Show.
I need to break out of this rut and go outside and eat some snow as long as it’s not yellow.
I need to feel fresh air on my face and remember that I am alive even if I lose my health insurance and end up living under a bridge like a fairy tale troll.

Charles Cicirella

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