“So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-06-15T20_46_00-07_00

Everything is broken or breaking apart or disassembled and begging to be put back together again.

And the slow train has run off the track and the quiet man has died a loud and undignified death.

And I’m waiting for the caliber less words to arrive and for you to call so I can finally check out.

Another blues song up around the bend as the cowboy horizon nips at our Italian heels and we pray to a Hebrew God.

And all of this hate in the world is turning me off in a big way as one conspiracy theory after the next backfires and we drop to the floor like another innocent chalk outline.

You want to know what’s wrong. I’ll tell you. It’s these paid suits making endless lists and passing the buck to a dead pool of bean counters and faceless assassins who carry out their orders in blind allegiance and constipated patriotism.

We’ve killed our spirit by pretending we give a shit when nothing could be further from the truth.

We slaughtered the Indians in the name of God only knows what because I guess the white man is entitled to whatever he wants as long as his guns are loaded and his conscience is an empty void.

Thinking about Jonestown and how mothers administered the poison to their babies using eyedroppers. Thinking how so little has changed today as we feed our young violence and hatred through radicalized screens and don’t even give it a second thought.

Charles Cicirella

6/15/16

Faceless

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-06-15T14_00_48-07_00

I really don’t understand what neoliberalism is, but I reject it on its faceless mug.

And I look forward to Don Howland creating a cycle of songs about this injurious evil.

His strangled voice and rhythm guitar pastorals will pepper our humdrum lives and put some pep in our listless and loquacious steps toward an abandoned Heaven.

Charles Cicirella

6/15/16

Words do

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-06-15T13_43_35-07_00

Words do make a difference.

A difference between Heaven and Hell?

I don’t know.

Please don’t ask me.

I am hesitant to make any definitive statements at this time.

I’m comfortable here.

In front of a blank screen making it up as I go because only during these meditations on otherness do I feel like all is not for naught and that I have a reason to live, a reason to reap what I sew and a reason to die.

You’re a wordsmith.

So I am pretty certain you get it

And have answered the question for yourself

How it feels to be without a home, like a complete unknown,

Like a rolling stone.

I’m thinking you also understand better than most humans

That the only true justice is from on high and that this justice

Comes at an unresolvable and unremitting price.

When the Prince of Peace showed you an eye for an eye

And a tooth for a tooth did it alter how you love and hate?

Words do make a difference.

They operate on a higher place of transmigration just ask Timothy

Archer when he passed into the body of a dying science fiction writer

And how exalted he felt when the pink beam passed through him and

A series of strokes left him with no answers or questions; only a blank slate.

Words make all of the difference in this world.

The complications arise in the next when even streams of consciousness

Cannot save us from our most ardent and unrelenting of cheerleaders.

And do you remember when you cut your very first record and how the

Blues poured from you like rain showers down from the billowing clouds?

Charles Cicirella

6/15/16