Sunday, February 28, 2016

Destinations (For Bob)

I don’t know where the words come from, but they come all the same.
It doesn’t trouble me to write them down because I’ve been taking dictation for 32 years.
And when the four winds blow I’m often taken by surprise as it should be.

I once thought it a blessing or a curse, but I know better now as I change destinations and try to keep my mind right.
You were a precious angel or a hellhound on my trail. Either way you gave my life meaning before everything fell to pieces and the parts stopped making sense.
I don’t know if the code of the road applies here and for moral compasses I’ve given up believing in them quite some time ago.

Pick up the pencil and put the nub in your mouth. Sharpen the point with your canines and never forget you were once a savior to the masses before you abandoned love and went the way of changing partners.
It was in Akron, Ohio that I first saw you play. I’ll never forget the Queens of Rhythm and how you made that Rubber Bowl seem like a home away from home.
I have no idea why you stopped playing “Like A Rolling Stone” and so many other songs that sounded so righteous and resplendent to my ears, but I know that you know best as the tide rolls in and the California coastline continues to disappear.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get it right or if hustling is something I’ll ever get the hang of, but I’ll tell you this inspiration can and often does arrive like a thief in the night.
I wanted to break bread with you so bad I could taste it on my Jewish-Sicilian lips. Yes I wanted to get to know you on some whole other level, but the powers that be just wouldn’t let it be.
And I was walking down the desert highway and you pulled up alongside and asked if I needed a ride. I would have let you go by except I was in need of a friend who didn’t ask so many questions and I knew you were just what the doctor ordered when doctors still made house calls and the world was a much different and friendlier place.

Charles Cicirella

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