Civilization
born from myth
The
look of mayhem in your desert island eyes always keeps me coming back for more
I’ll
never understand why you don’t like your tits
I
want a doughnut, but not one that the powdered sugar gets on my fingers
I
want you on all fours, but not because I think you’re a doggy. In fact it has
nothing to do with me wanting you to fetch my L.L. Bean slippers
It’s
been pointed out to me that my poetry objectifies women and for that I am very
sorry even though nothing could be further from the lactating truth
Civilization
propped up on kickstand-banana-seat-lies and the inhumanity of another
festering-ego-sore
Jack
was right, “You can’t handle the truth,” so stop acting so high and mighty
because when you fall the damage will be colossal
Nobody
believed he would win and when he did all of the racist scampering cock and
cunt roaches came out of the deplorable woodwork to stake their claim in the
primordial mud
I
want a cup of instant coffee that doesn’t taste like Juan Valdez pissed in it
I
want you to stop pretending I meant nothing and for you to lower your draw
bridge and welcome me back inside your Hello Kitty scandalous reprimands
It’s
been brought to my attention I leak like a sieve and that’s probably true
because I’ve always been full of shit and my holes have always been bigger than
the Scotch tape covering them
How
about we disappear into a jungle book of our own devising?
The
kind of neighborhood where you ask no questions about the bloodstains on the carnivorous
walls
Was
there ever a time you gave me a second look or was that all fabricated because you
were bored and sad from having just lost your dog?
Charles Cicirella
10/30/17
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