Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Ninth Poem (Lusting after Transcendence)

Dances like a spinning top
On fire from within a volcano of angst and stressful retaliation
Nothing tires her out except thinking about the next day and the scheduling of empty spaces

Met her in a roomful of mirrors and black eyed peas
I was the one hiding in plain sight
She was the one eating a burger and fries in the middle of the joint

We do our very best to pretend we’re not pretending
Of course being scared straight has both its advantages and disadvantages when you’re being graded on a curve and slippery slopes are still all the rage
When I brought up the possibility of lubrication she said it would not be necessary because she was wetter than a kid’s waterpark in the middle of a sweltering August

I like my martinis medium dry, lemon peel. Shaken not stirred
I like my women black and as mysterious as Agatha Christie inspired and intoxicated
I believe they’re the cradle of civilization and messing with that only gets you feeling more alone as the world weighs upon you like a cartoon safe or pink elephant

Dances like a nation in revolt, seeking sweet, untainted asylum
Makes it up while she goes along because her improvisation will beat your planned attacks every day of the week including weekends
No one will ever get the best of her because she holds her cards close to her magnificent breasts and only lowers her guard when convinced there are no crocs in the advancing waters.

Charles Cicirella

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