Friday, February 03, 2017

Twelfth Poem (Approximation)

Words like fireflies light up the sky.
I followed Frost and discovered it was the wrong path for me.
Approximation is for the birds. So is capitulation when you’re a junkie and all the good shit is just out of reach.

Let’s lose ourselves in obscure references to a Godhead that’s been absent since before any of us were even born or for that matter created.
Sublimation is oftentimes the only choice left when all the other detours have proven ineffective or out to lunch.
You were a ballerina before realizing you were not as graceful as a swan or as beautiful as a Degas.

Words like fireflies kept in a jar until their light is needed and daybreak no longer answers Mother Nature’s call.
I followed the private detective on his latest case until I realized snooping was doing me no good and even Columbo needed to have some boundaries when it came to administering justice.
Look into your significant other’s eyes and if all you see are empty crossword puzzle spaces perhaps it’s best you get out while the getting is still good.

Let’s attempt to jump for joy and go all the way when someone we love accomplishes some great task they’ve been working toward since before you first saw them naked.
Intimacy is the great misnomer if you’ve never actually been honest with yourself and if when you climax you feel all disoriented and guilty for the sticky situation you’re now in.
You were an esteemed bank robber when such things were still considered cool and shooting someone in the back was not frowned upon.

Words like mission impossible jaunts toward either the moon or some other far off place made of green cheese and said to be good on a Ritz Cracker.
I followed my best worst instincts and ended up here between a rock and a very uncomfortable and unnerving hard place.
Approximation nothing to worry your pretty little head about as long as you remember how good fascists are at keeping lists and getting rid of the evidence.

Charles Cicirella

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