A Sense of Urgency

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-26T21_05_09-07_00 

I feel it.

Do you?

Does it wash over you like blood and fury?

Let’s quit cold turkey.

Let’s do something different.

Let’s flip off the status quo and let our freak flags fly like big hairy kites in the cornflower blue skies.

I found it?

Did you?

Did it sneak up behind you and make your heart skip a beat?

I so badly wanted to stick my finger or penis inside of her but she said we didn’t know each other well enough and that it probably wouldn’t be a very good idea.

I asked her if she felt the same sense of urgency that I felt and she responded by looking deeply into my fistful of dollar eyes as she switched back on Turner Classic Movies.

We watched Mean Streets, Taxi Driver and Sunset Boulevard then we made love like two ravenous sharks in desperate need of a dolphin or sea lion.

I decided against it.

Either the world isn’t ready for me or I’m not ready for the world so I decided to call it a day and crawl back into my hermit crab shell.

Let’s exist beyond our meager means because I’m tired of eating only vanilla ice-cream and riding on Merry-Go-Rounds that do nothing except go around in circles.

Charles Cicirella

10/24/15

“Pussy on the Chain Wax” (For Michael & Casey)

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-23T19_55_45-07_00
 

“Pussy on the chain wax.”

That’s what she said. I heard it with my own two ears.

Then she asked me to explain it to her so I did because I don’t believe in backing down from a challenge, including when we were in the Rally’s drive-thru and she screamed “Pussy on the chain wax” when the cashier rudely answered ‘No’ when asked if they took EBT. She upped the ante when she got out of the van and grinded against the concrete wall.

“Pussy on the chain wax.”

Sometimes the road dog bites you and sometimes you bite the road dog.

I’m cloaked in the fog of his Easy Rider charisma when he decrees his whacky, tuned in and entirely kindred-sermons on the wretchedness and hilarity of surviving one more day on menthols, photographic chemicals and the occasional roll in the imaginary hay.

He kicks me into overdrive when he steps out of the movie-screen-womb and takes me on a “Magic Carpet Ride.”

“Pussy on the chain wax.”

Charles Cicirella

10/7/2015

Fever Dream

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-23T19_22_48-07_00

My last fever dream was a real doozy.

I can hardly remember it and yet still I’m reeling.

It was in Rome and I was doing like all the other Romans were doing until I wasn’t and the shit started running down my legs like an uncomfortable plot twist.

You can pretend we don’t get along.

You can continue to say you don’t do emotional attachments.

And yet your actions speak louder than your quiet words when the phone rings and it says private or unknown number.

It was pitch dark and I was listening to Darin Bulai’s soundtrack in my head.

His vinyl poetry and sonic-screaming-soapbox-sermons keep my Pope-On-a-Rope Soap bobbing and weaving and that’s a very good thing when bending over might just get me an unwelcomed poking in the nether regions of my subterranean undercard.

Let’s start back at the beginning when babies had that new car smell and your car couldn’t drive you back and forth to the medical marijuana dispensary because you discovered it was the only way to take the edge off this thing called survival of the wickedest.

My last fever dream nearly landed me in the pokey.

Not even sure what I was thinking, but before I knew it I was dressed up like a ninja and my stealth moves would have impressed both Fred and Ginger.

It was in Paris, Texas and I was doing like all the other Marlboro cowboys taking a drag off my cigarette and pretending I wasn’t afraid of dying of lung cancer or some worse malady, when all of a sudden you appeared before me like Glinda the Good Witch of the South and everything seemed like it might just work out as I had planned when I was young and free will didn’t feel like such a left handed compliment.

Charles Cicirella

10/23/15