Friday, September 07, 2018

Blue Waves (For Kat)

In my unexamined imaginings we’re under the covers
Neither one of us stoned
Neither one of us thinks we’re Joan of Arc
When I cup her left breast she lets out a Woodstock sigh and I know I’m either on the right track or she’s fallen asleep and I’m getting cozy with her inner child

The rip tide called and thanked me for thinking that was one of Lou’s coolest songs
It also wanted to remind me of our agreement and that I wouldn’t be pulled beneath the blue waves until I was good and ready to either meet my maker or at the very least willing to remove my mask and show everybody the cartoon I’ve made of myself
Let’s stop pretending poets aren’t a special brand of people like whiskey you drink out of a brown paper bag or porn that shows up at your door screaming about the good news
Sometimes I think about her walking from the office to home or vice versa and it brings a smile to my overdue face knowing she really is an actualized person and that all of these poems do actually exist and are not just more daydreams dressed up as pathetic, purloined orphans hell bent on world domination

I like to pull out my Ice Microphone like I used to enjoy pulling out my bong and instead of getting stoned I stone myself with whatever adjectives I can muster much like Sisyphus rolling a boulder uphill then watching it roll back down again
She likes me and I am guessing it’s either because of my audacious wit or because I appreciate things about her that others either don’t pick up on or are just too afraid to point out
For me it’s like shooting in the dark except in this scenario neither one of us is smoking a cigar and when we wake up there are no dead chickens in our pjs
I like her because I believe she is the true meaning of a maverick and is ready to buck the system whenever the system needs to be dressed down for all the bullshit it inflicts on us, each and every day and night

In my inexcusable envisioning we’re sitting in a breakfast nook with a set each of our grandparents
There is juice on the table and what appears to be bacon and eggs beckoning us to consume it or feed it to the dinosaur that is hanging out beneath both of our slippered feet
My uncle Anthony is there which makes sense because he’d often drop by on his route when he was delivering the mail
At some point Katie gives me that look that only she can properly deliver that means it’s either time to leave or kill everybody in the room

We must stand up on our own two feet before it‘s too late
No one wants to be annihilated before they’ve done the chosen work they were brought here to do
Dylan would make the perfect next Carson because his delivery is second to none and when he channels his inner Ed Sullivan all bets are off
I wanted to either suck on her toes or get a bite to eat, but I wasn’t in a very communicative mood so I just wet my finger and stuck it in Kat’s right ear because I knew she’d understand exactly what I wanted

Charles Cicirella

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