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
9/7/18
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