Another
poem
Another
dig
Another
Saturday spent wishing my daddy would take me for a bicycle ride
We
love to feel left out
We
love to feel the absence of love
We
love to stop believing because with no belief the very real choice of disbelief
can be left like roadkill in the middle of the dark end of the loosey goosey
unpaved street
I
loved when she’d surprise us with Long John Silvers
I
loved the way her big ass looked in those grey sweatpants as she vacuumed and
left nothing to chance
I’ll
never forget when she shaved her pussy and I was convinced she’d done it for
another guy. I of course blew it all out of proportion and lost any chance I
had of again fucking her tight dictatorial irrelevance
Another
dinosaur bone
Another
excavation
Another
poem I’ll bury in the backyard of this windswept mind
We
plan for the disconnection of self from torrents of undignified, ill-equipped
glory
We
purge the contents of our stomachs believing whatever we ate an hour ago has
only left us emptier and more uncertain of the unrested shadowy coon’s age dark
We
build our hopes and dreams on Legos we never actually owned as the kid across
the street takes his toys and goes home because you never played well with
others
Another
porno shot in poor light and poorer excuses for self-flagellation
Another
worthwhile cause strung up by its hamstrings and left blistering in the unorthodox, nonredeemable sun
Another
stab at pinning the tail on a donkey that brays for no reason other than it
refuses to admit defeat and relishes both your attention and your unbridled enthusiasm.
Charles Cicirella
4/3/17
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