"Blood Lions"

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-17T02_14_32-07_00

You’re not breeding lions.

You’re breeding ghosts.

You’re not hunting the king of the jungle.

You’re chasing your own mortality.

You prove ignorance is bliss without even loading your rifle.

You prove pure evil can and does exist.

Blood Lions.

They cut off baby’s heads, now their crucifying Christ over and over again.

Blood Lions.

Maybe we should start hunting these fuckers. Make these losers feel some actual fear and terror as they run for their worthless and pathetic lives.

You’re not breeding lions.

You’ve created a new species of scapegoats.

Charles Cicirella

10/7/2015 10:48 PM

Cherry Picking the White Noise

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-08T23_24_15-07_00

You’ll know when it’s your time or you won’t. Sadly everything is breaking down and even the telltale signs aren’t as on top of things as they once were.

Or perhaps you’re ahead of your time and if that’s the case I’m guessing you’ll be flying blind and by the seat of your pants for most if not all of your holy rolling life.

I sit here playing the Lotto as I punch down these keys praying for some sensible shoes as I walk over the bodies from another unnecessary, but all too common mass shooting.

You want red, white and blue carnage?

Come to America.

You want to be treated like a refugee among 318.9 million immigrants?

Come to America. Where everything is exactly as it seems and then isn’t. And the Golden Arches want to make you their wage slave and then their Soylent Green.

I was cherry picking the white noise in my blue jeans and Superman tee-shirt.

Grandma was getting her dialysis, but told me it was alright if I came over and picked her orchard clean because white noise was coming in especially heavy this year and she was having a difficult time unloading the poisoned fruit.

Even that which is farm to table is more than likely going to kick your ass in the end. I believe it’s because Mother Nature has never quite gotten over how piss poor we treated the Native Americans, the protectors of Mother Earth.

“You're ridin' high in April, shot down in May.”

“That's life (that's life), that's what all the people say.”

I don’t buy it and you shouldn’t either. Maybe things will be different when Rupert Murdoch breathes his last stale, Grinch breath. Though probably not because money, greed and power seem to go hand in hand and ass to mouth.

Time to watch another porno and pretend I’m not feeling so lost and vanquished by love.

Charles Cicirella

10/8/15

Chamber Music for Flamingos

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-07T20_33_55-07_00

Guitars must scream and the drums must drum.
He was tired of rock and roll and told me he wanted to write chamber music.
I don’t even know what that is exactly and I still thought it was very cool.

Sat up there in his room.
The room he nearly burned down one night because he was drunk and left a candle burning too close to the curtains.
Typing one poem after another high on Philip K. Dick short stories and Cocoa Frosted Flakes.

I am realizing more and more every day just how little I find myself being able to relate to most people.
I used to think it was me, but am starting to gather the intelligence that most people are just not all that intelligent and that I do not suffer fools gladly or without holding something against them.
I know my friend Juliet would say I’m judgmental, but I am starting to get that in her own stealth manner she’s just as careful when it comes to the stones she chooses to keep and the stones she chooses to throw away.

The music must both sneak up on me and rip off my head like his music repeatedly did and still does to this very day.
He taught me it wasn’t about the audience and that you must do your art like you have six months to live.
He said just that on one of the many cassettes he sent me. His personal cassettes followed me from town to town because he was good at doing mail and making packages that would blow up your mind and make you smile all at the same time.

The flamingos aren’t impressed, but they’ll soon get over that because when you’re a flamingo it’s understandable being wowed is not as easy as just strolling through the park after dark.
John Waters can suck my dick and while he’s getting busy I’ll turn down his next script and ask him why he doesn’t get Iggy to play another idiot.
We spend far too much time going through the motions of putting out one fire after the next when what we should be concentrating on is burning this shithouse down to the ground. If you don’t believe a person can spontaneously combust just watch as I go up in flames right before your Blue Danube eyes.

Charles Cicirella
9/22/15

I need a bidet.

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-07T17_01_00-07_00

I very much need to shoot some water straight up my anus.
There’s been some scratching going on that toilet paper is only intensifying.
My asshole needs some special attention right about now and I believe a bidet is just what the doctor would prescribe if I had the nerve to go see a proctologist.

The strength of my resolve is waning as my belief in myself finds itself on the ropes.
Some people read my poetry and say it’s hardly poetry at all. To that I have to ask what makes you or anyone a poetry expert and what exactly is poetry anyhow?
I sit here and allow streams of consciousness to flow and sometimes the flow is quite intensified while other times only minute fissures of unrestrained conjecture find themselves hitting the page like droplets of HIV-positive blood.

Somebody help me as I stand at the rail watching a man I’ll probably never meet face to face as he pours himself onto the stage like a midsummer rain.
He’s never drizzling as he battens down the hatches and heads toward the Caribbean or some other exotic locale where he can disappear into a crowd and forget for a little while how important he’s supposed to be.
He sacrificed his anonymity as so many artists do believing they want fame and fortune when all they ever really desired was for someone to listen to their latest song and to smile and say good work. The proof is always in the pudding even when the one selling the pudding turns out to be one more wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I very much need to take a break and wrap my arms around a pinup model like Veronika Lake. I’ll never forget the first time I witnessed her on film. It was only then I understood what was meant by film noir and how we can be left completely breathless by a femme fatale.
I’m not one of those people who needs to have a bucket of popcorn and a soda when watching a film. For me food just distracts from what is happening on the big screen.
My anus is tired of sitting here waiting for the scratching to subside and no amount of itching seems to be doing the trick as I become all too familiar with my rectum and what it means to give oneself a rectal examination.

Charles Cicirella
10/5/15

Tulips around the Toolshed (For Julie)

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-06T13_28_21-07_00

Relentless energy.

The point isn’t to try and guess your weight.

I’m not attracted to fun houses or mirrors that make me out to be living breathing crime noir.

I just want peace and quiet and a secret life I can call my own.

Relentless positive toxicity. Yes such a thing does exist in my mind’s eye, out among the

Pharaohs and High Priestesses.

I remember when you, me and Abraham Lincoln sought shelter from the invading storms.

How you and Honest Abe took to each other like two nitty-gritty guardians of truth often do when they cannot escape the moon and everyone is looking at them like they’re only wearing a top hat.

I cannot get Word to behave. The lines above are not meant to be indented and everything I try only seems to make the problem worse.

Charles Cicirella

10/6/15