Friday, November 20, 2015

Inspiration Sucks the Very Life Out Of Me and I Like It (It’s Only Poetry and I like It)

(This one’s for all the poets out there who have an actual clue. You know who you are. Hold your applause, but by all means pat yourselves on your backs when it’s all said and done and I’ve disappeared out the backdoor.)

I’m inspired.
I’m not.
I have no idea where the inspiration goes, but I cannot even begin to tell you how ecstatic I am when it returns and chooses to play with me again.

I was a thief, but I wasn’t anybody’s savior so you can stuff your paltry impressions of me inside your Sherlock pipe and suck it at your own discretion.
Ya I’m on food stamps, but who isn’t that’s actually worth a damn and is willing to run at the wall with all the gumption they’ve got before they cannot even recognize their best friend or their best friend’s dog and they’re sitting on a bench drooling, feeding the pigeons silences.
I’m not a tall drink of water. In fact I’m not even a shot and a beer, but that’s okay because I still pack enough of a punch to set you back on your heels if you’re into that sort of thing.

I met John Burroughs in Canton, Ohio at some coffee shop I’m pretty sure I’ll never set foot in again.
I really thought great things would come from that fortuitous meeting, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Of course my instincts as focused and as razor sharp as they often are doesn’t mean I always get it right or for that matter even know what’s really happening much of the time.

We lean into it.
We grow our hair long and believe we’re letting our freak flags fly when actually we’re too buttoned up for our own good and until we figure out how to unzip our minds the terrorists will win with their fear and their hatred and their loathsome way of turning our most hallowed of beliefs into some vile mind game ensuring our very destruction.
We destroy our freedoms by peddling so much rhetoric it’s impossible any longer to tell the good guys from the bad guys, if there was ever a difference to begin with.
Whenever someone espouses the words holy war just know they’re completely full of radioactive shit and will do their very best to run you down in the street like a dog because if they don’t silence you or at the very least blow themselves up while trying to silence you, then they’ll have to live with themselves for another uninspired, methodical day and that’s something no one wants to face, especially when they have no real love to give.

Charles Cicirella

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