I
desire to unzip her mind so we can step out of time like in Doctor Who or any really good Victorian
novel
I’d
tell you what beckons me, but what would be the point of frightening you and
putting you in harm’s way
The
hellhounds on my trail are of my own devising and like any truly great and
desecrated Blues singer I’ll go down dying from a bottle or a bullet to my head
Let’s
forget dinner and skip to takeout Chinese and a tub of your favorite ice-cream
It’s
been decades since I’ve drizzled butterscotch on anything worth giving pleasure
to
That
last line was intended to be tender, but felt more vindictive and nasty when it
left my mouth-fingers and carpet bombed the cauliflower-ear-page
She
sets my mind on fire as she has a tendency to do, it happens completely out of
nowhere as I hunker down at the keys like a hunter or clown poet
I
want to talk about Phil Ochs and not Bob Dylan for a change
I
want to revisit Phil’s Gunfight at
Carnegie Hall because for true Americana, it’s up there with the bald eagle
and Woody Guthrie
Katie
gets me like few do because she listens to my music undisturbed
Katie’s
brilliant from top to bottom because possibilities are endless and lost
horizons are just the tip of the
iceberg
Kat’s
on a first name basis with the angels in the architecture and knows just how
important it is to never let them see you sweat.
Charles Cicirella
8/4/20
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