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
6/15/18
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