This
is what I need
It’s
everything and nothing
As
my heartbeat veers in and out of red blooded traffic
She
was a super cop or that’s what she led me to believe when she was on top and
the weather outside begged to come inside like a vampire hopped up on Mad Magazines and Pasta e Fagioli
The
very first time she painted in front of me she wore her best rags as both of
our intentions were like craters carved from the center of the Earth or a lazy
third eye waiting for redemption like a stoned and holy Bob Marley bobble head
She
was so fit I only felt comfortable in my own skin when the lights were out and
the radio was tuned into polka dotted music
This
is where we begin with all of our nooks and crannies begging for real butter
and a House of Cards that even Spacey
cannot fold inside of as his stock plummets and his livelihood goes the way of
another predator-dodo-bird-priest
I
wonder where the appeal is in masturbating in front of an employee and why
power drives these monsters into such fits of unsavory sex addiction
Does
it even have to do with sex or is it really only about slapping down those who
you believe are your inferior as your ego slices and dices you up into a wok of
perversion and pedophilia
This
poem has gone off the rails as I sneak into her studio and spy the phoenixes
rise from her canvases like a murder of telephone operators hell-bent on
calling out to our creator before it’s too late and the ashes of our sex get
sucked up by another overzealous Elmer
Gantry Dust Buster
Her
portfolio like a razor to my heart took a bite out of the big apple while
making damn certain her impressions first and last would never fail to steal my
ravenous sight
Some
people believe arts and crafts are a hobby we best get used to cozying up next
to while the truly driven understand art is the only God we’ll ever actually
know on a first name basis
Charles Cicirella
8/4/18
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