Just
ate a doughnut
Raspberry
jelly covered my fingers
It
was an Immaculate Conception sugar high
No
reason to resist
Either
you’re on top or pulled beneath the non-fiction waves
The
way she read Russian literature out-loud passionately turned the key in my
coil-on-plug ignition system
Art
was never a mere past-time I could pick up and put down like collecting stamps
or shrunken heads
It
not only defines who I am as a person, but it keeps a light on so when I get
lost I can always find my way back home
Katie
Boyd is the only Road Atlas needed when I desire to break new ground and lasso the
moon
The
doughnut sits on my stomach like a space invader who is tired of probing and
wants to instead make friends with their next hapless victim
I
love how Spielberg paid homage to Truffaut by hiring him for Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Jules and Jim would have been
thrilled to know their creator was still working after all those years
Flirting
with this Scottish lass is as close as I’ll ever get to true providence
Kat
understands the writing as a calling and not some objective torture test
lessening no one’s load by piling on the hyperbole and vectors of transmogrified
speech
I
write what my fingers feel as my daydreams peel off their lemonade clothes and
take a dip in pools of saltpeter
I
ordered room service and when my room arrived I knew it was too small to change
my mind
Let’s
stop pretending any one of us is going to get out of here alive
Morrison
knew full well what Rimbaud had proven centuries before that being a word-man was
just as limiting as being a bird-man and running guns gets you no further out of
the rat race
I
may eat another doughnut or I may just curl up into a ball and allow the fetal
position to take hold as embryonic fluid fills my ears and my mother comes for
a short visit
Charles Cicirella
10/12/18 
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