Sunday, March 27, 2016

I'm Losing It

Title keeps going through my head
Which can mean only one thing
A poem is coming and I best get out of the way

Resistance is futile when the muses decide it’s your turn to take out the trash
And the last time I was raked over the coals I rather enjoyed the humiliation
This is not the end, no it’s just the beginning and don’t worry we’ll make more once we run out of bullets and those little finger sandwiches

I’m losing it
Losing it over the big things that really aren’t all that important like not getting to go to a bunch of Bob Dylan shows this summer or going and not being front row
I keep trying to keep myself in check, but that’s mighty difficult when quicksand is the only place left to stand tall

I’ll write this poem and then I’ll send it to a friend who will record some music for it and make it even better than it originally was when I nearly died of exposure and the alphabet stopped making sense
I keep worrying what if my poetry is not up there on a whole other level than I remind myself it’s about actually doing the work and not about the celebrity that may someday arrive in a puff of secondhand smoke
We all daydream of better days to come; the secret is to not become a slave to those daydreams or allow the silver linings to get you in a chokehold and break more than just your spirit.

Charles Cicirella

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