Collateral
damage voice
Singing
to an invisible republic
Steam
on the window proof of life
Resisting
change for the birds
Sings
ikons, breaking the mold endlessly
Looked
for the words in a strange hotel
I’m
not tired, but I am parched
Restless
and unware of the passages of time
She
woke him up with her guiltless eyes
Poets
are a dime a dozen
Troubadours
are rarer and weirder
He’s
a surgeon whose precision is legendary
Tired
of going through the door
Try
exiting through the transom
Not
everyone is built for goodbyes
Songs
built one brick atop another
A
reversal of fortune and deconstruction
An
architect whose fountainhead is dipped in blood
The
faithless will never survive
They
lack the chutzpah to look their creator in the eye
Dylan’s
a priest well versed in retribution and reimagining love
A
voice of new mornings and resounding confidence
He
scrambles the yellow eggs from a chicken little outspent
Moving
still as the colors move through him endlessly
Charles Cicirella
11/21/18 
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