Sunday, August 02, 2015

Rice Krispies Parallel Universes

Took a shower.
Washed the stench off of me.
Washed the death off of me.

Thinking about micro penises.
Not mine just micro penises in general.
How because they’re micro they might just fit anywhere.

She asked me to keep the poems about her just between us.
Said she was worried about her reputation because she was new to the poetry scene and didn’t know how big this thing would get.
I am at a loss at how one poet can ask another poet to hide their light under a bushel.

Took a shower.
Washed the low expectations off of me.
Washed the crack of my ass and everything in between.

Thinking about her reading her poem about dog shit.
How she carried it off with such finesse and ample amounts of sonorous intensity.
She is one of a kind as I view her in my mind’s eye looking down at the micro casket.

She asked me and as she did so I could feel the inspiration dying on the vine.
She asked me as the pistol went off and one more self-effacing leading man died too young.
She asked me and it made me want to go out for Chinese food and forget about all of this bullshit that keeps us from connecting with our “Real Real Gone” selves.

Charles Cicirella

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