Tuesday, February 19, 2019

There’s no pretending in a world of Monday’s. (For Kat)


We’re all slaves to time even though time doesn’t know we exist.
She made friends with Sisyphus and then the boulder was her only concern.
Feeling zeal over the big ticket items while the smallest of the small slips between the cracks and is reflected by a roomful of mirrors.

Plodding through the mystery of why we exist is such a heavy slog especially when philosophy has never interested us in the least little bit and our crisis body shames us before we’re even hallway through our victim statement.
The police told me there’s no use pretending the culprit would be caught because criminals will be criminals and life intentionally cracks us up.
My glass has always been shattered like at some Jewish wedding or bank robbery where the takeaway isn’t ass or grass, but instead our own unremarkable lives.

I so badly wanted to trade punches with the champ, but he was out for repairs so I settled for the next best thing and shot Groucho Marx in my chicken pajamas.
Poetry doesn’t leave you in the lurch neither does suicide if you do it right the first time.
I was so hopped up on the next big thing I forgot about all the shit that I was once so over the moon about and nothing stays charged forever and everything remains in lockstep and locked down in a perpetual downward spiral of flop sweat.

My father once informed me, I was a survivor and that kept me going for about a decade until I ran out of gas and a sense of humor in San Francisco on Cleveland Avenue.
The band I was traveling with had had enough of me and my obtuse strangulations and before you know it they rubbed me out like a tombstone that just wanted to disappear into the Birds Eye frozen ground.
The peek-show dancer wasn’t interested in my excuses for not having correct change as she closed her window and left me holding my blue balls and Sharpie Fine Permanent Marker.

We’re all slaves to Father Time and his family of vulture capitalists.
She made friends with the music in her head because she was convinced it was the only way to stay in touch with the fire in her belly.
The status quo just another last ditch reminder that being human isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when even Mother Nature has turned her benevolent back on us.

Charles Cicirella

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