Monday, January 03, 2022


Stand still.
Hail stings.
Phone rings.

She stood there naked.
A ball of light shown down.
Absolute beginners choking on this nativity scene.

Landlocked like a hermit crab or suburban night crawler.
Talked to Juliet on the phone the other night and I asked her to write a poem about the disposal of my mother’s ashes.
We’re poets and we know it and we could care less what you think of our words covered in dog shit and sardonic whimsy.

We made so much noise that Tom and Linda complained. Of course that’s only because neither one of them was getting any.
It was another time when Grandview didn’t seem so small and I still believed in something.
We could have lit the world on fire, but decided instead to go to McDonald’s where Juliet ate her McNuggets in order of their worthiness.

One night I woke up and she was watching me.
I’ve written about this before and I’m still shocked.
I believe she was just stunned by how quiet I am when lost in dreamland.

Stand tall.
Sun warms.
Phone whirrs.

Charles Cicirella

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