(For Joni Soule)
Silence breaking.
Suffering this life.
She paints and dies.
She lives and cries.
We break apart.
We fall like dominoes into an unmarked grave.
I love her.
But that does not change anything.
I love her.
And that does mean something.
I heard her crying.
She was in the other room, 1385 miles away.
I have this bad habit of constantly interrupting her when
we’re on the phone.
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to shut up and listen.
Yes we’re artists.
And no there is nothing even the least little bit
romantic about it.
She paints, but I honestly don’t know if that sets her
free.
She lives and I honestly am not sure what any of this
means.
She is not silent.
Pay attention and you will hear her asking for help.
Charles Cicirella
7/23/14
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