Friday, October 19, 2018

“You're a Big Girl Now (9/16/74, Take 2)”

Voice indescribable
Disguised in a hail of bullets and oily revolutions
Streams of consciousness placed on the auction block

Sat in that office
Listened to fifteen seconds
Was reborn and cast out like a vagabond or miscreant

Bootleg Series get no more intimate or uncomfortable
A madman standing naked at the canvas expecting rain and torrents of disbelief
He knew his time was up and he’d best hunker down before his muse gave up on him too

We stand alone at the gates of healing and transformative genius
Praying God or some other all-knowing entity has our back
There’s nothing left to do, but attend Norman’s painting classes and pray the naked city doesn’t spit him out like millions before him

His strumming proves just how effective a ghost can haunt the guitar when his life is on the line and there are no more bands left to do his unapologetic bidding
Absolved in the blood of a holy spirit whose father sold appliances and kept his family sheltered from the storm
Iron ore mining only gets you so far when your deposits of knowledge need a good talking to and your twin, that enemy within has gone on a holiday from a resurrection of selflessness

Voice breaks down and pulls out all the stops
As that bird on a wire gets acquainted with twilight and the emergence of another new morning
No one has ever been more conscious when laying down the blood on the yellow railroad tracks

Charles Cicirella

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