Friday, June 15, 2018


no one begins with an advantage
we all start blank, ready to work or to die
I’m unleavened basking in the desert sun

heard your whispers when you were up and coming
stalled out somewhere between Heaven and Hell
my existence a monster truck deplete of fuel

out in the prison yard, always showing up fashionably late
gruel’s not much to look forward to after a grueling day of breaking rocks
nights even more full of terror and squealing pangs of reoccurring self-recrimination

I hope this poem reaches you in one piece
circus peanuts and fruitcakes plague my Jivaro Blowgun childhood
saw it advertised next to survival manifestos for the worried sick man

starved out on political correctness and neo-liberalism for the uncommon psychopath
wishy washy hidden agendas feeding word salad to the poor impoverished fly over states
trumpet blast kills someone on fifth ave. while a baby is ripped from their mother’s arms

charles cicirella

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