Sunday, December 20, 2020

sister Flo aka Shirley

Cutting through the wonderland of our psyches with a Jung machete that keeps us out of sorts for the spell we have left in this jungle of soot and Covid tears
I was born broken like a bell ringer who never had a chance at happiness because all their sadness was lumped in with the sacrifice of always being on time
Stand up, stand down just don’t stand on anyone’s neck when they say they cannot breathe and the single cigarettes they were selling are left on the cold ground unlit and unsmoked

We freeze at the moment like the rest who don’t try because our sheep mentalities are too easy to disguise as the next charitable cause as our culture teeters upon extinction like saltpeter and Limp Bizkit 
I had a headache so I swallowed the cyanide just like the doctor prescribed and before I knew it I left my body and went to Florida to retire with the rest of my delicatessen brethren
She was a vision of loveliness and death camp austere charms and I intend that as a compliment as I slipped a mickey and a jarring remark into her drink to both wake her up and extinguish any of her lingering self-doubts

The poetry I write flows from some ancient river in the subconscious of what was once my mind and is now just a vacant Walmart parking lot where the homeless try to get on with their sleepless lives and the parked cars get to know one another on a first name license plate basis
Tablet was mentioned which is a medium-hard, sugary confection from Scotland. I became so excited I nearly wet myself because I’ve always had a soft spot for the “The Candy Man.” First time I heard it in school it chewed me up and spit me out like all childhood memories should.
Slicing through the horror of another misbegotten train wreck that I believed was my life, but instead turned out to be just another wet dream that I best sop up and move away from because little deaths never turn out as awesome as you may have once believed them to be.

Charles Cicirella

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