Saturday, August 04, 2018

Sex Ashes (For Julia Haw)

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

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