The
reason you’re not recognized is because you are too good for their Yosemite Sam
“What in Tarnation” brain stems
And
I want to lay with her like two hibernating bears dreaming of honey and when
Trump is no longer President
Pick
up the phone its Jesus calling. He wants to know what you want on your
afterlife pizza and if anchovies wet your whistle or stop up your works
I
loved you from afar and when I got closer my crush grew even more substantial
Murderers
and poets must possess the ability to know when to stop killing and when carving
isn’t going to make any difference whatsoever
I’ve
never played a surgeon on television and I don’t want to because I hear the
overhead is deadly and driving a Mercedes isn’t what it’s cracked up to be
Klute
receives my poetry in a manila envelope and checks it for mistakes and
righteous indignation
His
earnestness made me a fan right off the bat and his produce shape keeps me
rooting for the inner pear inside all of us
The
concert was maroon and her campfire was a liability, but when it comes to
general admission all bets are off
I
know she has a significant other and that this poetry isn’t going anywhere and
still I daydream of her on top as we watch some foreign film with the subtitles
turned off
She
turns me on like a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos that goes right on refilling
itself even after my pain threshold has been reduced to rubble
I
rid myself of my five o’clock shadow when she told me drag queens were no
longer her thing and that manly men are what now made her as wet as Old
Faithful
I’m
just about to call it quits because my channeling of Ben Franklin isn’t going
as planned
My
poetry is not a Farmer’s Almanac that
can be used as a guide to plant your crops
Even
my best pickup lines do next to nothing to impress potential prey and that goes
double for the poems that spill from me like water
Charles Cicirella
9/5/18 
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