Friday, May 15, 2020

Peeling the peel off the banana that is me.

No, I’m not saying what you think I’m saying.
I was circumcised and there is no foreskin to peel back.
I am talking about my heart and you should get your mind out of the gutter.

I remember Ron House had a song where he wrote verses from the Bible on his foreskin. I’ve always found him to be a stand-up guy.
All those addicts in Columbus welcomed me into their oblivion with the precise miss-direction of a dharma bum and I do what I can to pay it forward to this day.
There is a method to the madness, now please stand back because I don’t know how big this thing gets.

I always want to start a new verse with let’s start and it’s really starting to annoy me.
I have to avoid getting comfortable in the La-Z-Boy of complacency that is the writers’ kryptonite.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my Grandpa Eddie’s typewriter and how it was a casualty to my rage. It’s frightening to think our entire planet could be gone just like that and all on account of one man’s negligence and our failure to act.

Charles Cicirella

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