Just
took the last Oxy
Haven’t
a clue if I’ll be hankering for more
And
if my back will start to spasm like James Brown
Right
around the time PCP was his only friend
And
running from the cops seemed like a good idea
I
feel good
Or
I feel good enough
That
you won’t find me
With
my head in the oven
Like
Sylvia and her Bell Jar
Word
on the street is
Demi
was snorting Oxy
And
though I’ve never tried it
She’s
a pop star so I’m guessing
She
knows her highs and lows on a first name basis
Cumming
means nothing to me
Crossing
the River Styx reminds me of lemonade and black licorice
Not
sure I’ll ever get used to this day to day existence thing
It’s
just not my bag of marbles or Star Wars figurine
I keep in its original box to get top dollar
Even
the poetry isn’t waking me up like it once did and that frightens me as I sit
here in this transport chair both resigned and resistant to more dubious change
Going
to take a valium and hope it does more than the last one did
Prayer
is the long shot you try when everything else fails and you’re left standing in
the rain, listening to Led Zeppelin on a Walkman that hasn’t worked since 2006
When
I asked him to call it was to share some exciting news, but he never bothered
and the excitement has subsided like ocean waves or birth pangs
Thinking
about going to Colorado to find the God Bud
I
hear it’s living there, collecting social security as it awaits its disciples
Charles Cicirella
9/13/18 
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