I
love you
Even
when you go radio silent, feelings ever present and ready to be cut open like a
dead Tauntaun and climbed inside of for warmth and shelter
I’m
not jumping the gun, in fact I carry no weapons except for my words and those I
keep holstered until either alcohol or hypocrisy rears its demonic head and
demands swift action
I
need you
Even
though we’re thousands of miles apart and I’m quite certain your feelings don’t
run as “River Deep-Mountain High” as mine do
Spector
was and continues to be a psychopath, but the Wall of Sound he built brick by
despised brick is as indelible as the music Mozart or God Almighty created
Not
comparing Spector to God and for Mozart that’s a toss-up as “Requiems” demand
their pound of flesh and every ghoul sadly will have his or her day in the
lopsided sun
Redemption
is another hopped up notion like the Summer of Love or Beatlemania, of course
don’t forget "The Walrus was Paul" and that rumors of his death were
greatly exaggerated
Let’s
go south for the winter and try and forget that southern hospitality is
actually code for Jim Crow laws and white sheets
I’m
going overboard, but I figure if poets and gamblers don’t go for broke then
what’s even the point of living on a razor’s edge
Yes,
there’s genius in them there hills and if that surprises you then you’ve not
been paying attention and should feel shame mixed with guilt and also some relief
from your IBS
My
inner Snoopy would very much like to have a playdate with your inner Linus when
you have the time and are no longer playing catch-up with a heart that’s ready
to burst
Charles Cicirella
9/10/18
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