Monday, August 27, 2018

Implosive (For Julia Haw)

So much silence my brain is doing back flips of delirium and frustrated exhaustion
Bad actors taking to the road pretending they’re poets when in actuality sixties Lost In Space episodes are better executed
Never forget first time I ate sushi off her exposed belly and how her taint reminded me of swollen sunsets and a Japanese moon

Our country has gone to hell in a Dorothy Gale hand basket as Malcolm Nance offers up a grin telling us he knows way more than he’s letting on because as super spies go he was as super as they come
It used to be the Republicans would just drive us into a ditch, now they’re siding with a KGB feckless thug because everyone wishes they’d been in The Sopranos and I cannot wait for the first time Manafort is delivered to the showers with more than just a juicy apple in his purty mouth
A five hundred dollar haircut doesn’t imbue you with superpowers as Ron Burgundy proves beyond the shadow of any doubt no matter how strange the bedfellows, the Dragnet facts will always scare you straight

I carve these poems from catheter and calligraphy believing they’re all that while the usual suspects stay silent because not only couldn’t their own poems keep up they have nothing new to share as their muses stand down and their disingenuous selves publish another Hot Pockets model’s confessions about doing the dirty deed with a Catholic Priest or defrocked donkey
The back surgery makes it quite difficult to fart and for shitting well let’s just say I’ve never had less fun crouching like a miser picking up a tarnished penny or an invisible child scraping by on booboos unkissed and unredeemed
The world’s not impressed by my Edward Scissorhands’ intellect and if things keep going the way they are before you know it I’ll be lost at sea wearing a life jacket two sizes to small capsized in a duck boat of my own flagrant and failing devising

Charles Cicirella

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