Friday, November 20, 2015

The Fog of Love

Lost in the dark stank of your love.
I’m drowning and not even Dear Abby can right this ship.
I’m full of rice and beans and lots of other stuff I refuse to own up to without my attorney present.

The fog of love is not happenstance or for that matter even circumstances gone awry.
There were no coincidences when we met other than me being asleep in front of that ballpark in South Bend and you at another gate waiting like a bandit for the world to end.
It’s time for me to lay down because oftentimes only sleep can cure what ails us and that includes the stench of guilt dripping from our every exposed and unexposed cavities.

Memory Lane did not quite suit me so I put on a football uniform and pretended I was an athlete for a spell. No one believed me and before you know it I was back on the bench wishing a cheerleader or band geek would take pity on my wallflower standing.
I sit here waiting for the words to come and when they don’t I do my best to fake it until I either make it or break into the teensiest pieces and parts of another comatose poet, hell bent on diving headfirst into oblivion without even a spell checker to right my wrongs.
I know you thought I was a better man so I bet it came as quite a shock when the curtain was pulled back and you realized my strings could be pulled just as easily as any puppets and my survivor status was about to be revoked for failing to answer the call when Darwin came knocking on my tortoise shell.

Lost in the perversity of another hangover that could have been so easily avoided.
I don’t believe Charlie Sheen has a compassionate bone in his soulless body and what’s with all these self-serving actors who have everything handed to them on a gold or silver platter and still expect unprotected sex even when they’re HIV positive because “he was famous long ago for playing the electric violin on Desolation Row.”
It’s true not all of us have tiger’s blood or are on the path to “WINNING”, but we mustn’t forget being a complete unknown often outweighs all the red carpets, free gift bags and free drugs because going through life as an anonymous entity really is a gas, gas, gas and beats the rude awakening of no longer being a celebrity and not even being able to land a commercial for toe fungus.

Charles Cicirella

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