Thursday, March 24, 2016

Rubbing My Eyes

Rubbing my eyes
I cannot believe I’m dying
But I knew it was only a matter of time

Listening to Ron Sexsmith
There’s a new challenge everyday
I do my best to deny it all

Holding a microphone like a tomb raider
Digging my cock out of my dirty jeans
Once I go up on the mountain I don’t plan on returning

I rubbed my eyes
And you were gone
Gone like bad weather or a silver living hell-bent on the changing seasons

There’s nothing to it really
You just claw the words out from behind your irreversible eyes
And somedays I’m 5’2 and other days I’m 5’3

I still remember our first conversation
You said very little
And nothing much has changed now

I said I was dying at the beginning of this poem
I may have exaggerated a wee-bit
I have a tendency to do that when I’m bored and seemingly out of options

Charles Cicirella

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